My sister Princess Anne
by Lady Eleanor Boleyn
Summary: What if Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn had four children? What if Lady Mary was placed in the household of the Youngest and watched her grow up - mature from a spoiled child into a lovely young lady? This is the story of Princess Anne Tudor.
1. Prologue

_Prologue - 1536 _

I am a forgotten princess.

In truth, I should not even use that title, for my mother is no longer queen.

My father, Henry Edward Robert Tudor has remarried to his mistress, Lady Anna-Maria Boleyn, and together they have one daughter, Elizabeth Grace, and two sons, Edward Henry and George Thomas.

I am nothing more than a bastard, a mistake.

My name is the Lady Mary.


	2. Princess Anne

AN: Since the Prologue was so short, and I was feeling generous, I uploaded two chapters at once. Besides, I need to explain a few things before we carry on. Anne Boleyn did **not lose** her head, and she is still married to Henry. They have two sons and one daughter – Elizabeth (born 1533), Edward (born 1534) and George (born 1535). It is now 1537, and Anne is pregnant yet again.

Mary's mother, Catherine, has died a year earlier, and she is now alone in the world – unless she can win back her father's favour – or that of one of the Royal Children. Apart from this, very few historical facts are right – I felt like messing them around.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Tudors – if I did, Henry would never have tired of Anne, and they would have had a son together, **and **another daughter, to give Elizabeth a sister.

Enjoy!

_1_

_Princess Anne_

_1537_

A year later, I was back at court to await the birth of a third son for England.

I came in, through the great gates of Hampton Court Palace, but not in the place of honour at the head of the procession, the royal standard rippling above my head. Oh no. Those days were long over – at least while Anne had power.

Instead, I rode in behind my fiery half sister, Elizabeth, or Bessie, as her family called her, wearing a simple woollen blue skirt, the one I always rode in.

Changing at once to my best gown, the pale green taffeta striped with silver, which was still rather ancient, but reasonably pretty, I begged, implored and pleaded for a private audience with my father, while Mistress Kat Champernowne, Elizabeth's governess, took her young charge up to greet her mother, as she had been commanded to do.

To my surprise and delight, I was granted one, in his Privy Chamber, no less.

I was ushered in first, through one door, and moments later, he crossed the threshold of the other.

As he entered, I hesitated for a mere fraction of a second, so that he could see what a graceful young lady I had become, before dipping down into a curtsey, deep, low, reverent and perfect.

"Father. Your Majesty."

"Mary. Are you well?"

"Perfectly, sir. And yourself?"  
"Well enough, well enough, thank you, Mary."

"It pleases me to hear it, sire" I replied politely, though I could see that the old jousting wound to his leg was paining him. Even so, he looked active enough, and healthy, though of course the imminent birth of his newest heir was also sustaining him.

"Good" I thought, as I surveyed him critically from my place at his feet. "That will keep his mind occupied, and allow him to remain at least moderately pleasant."

"Now, Mary, you asked to see me. Why?"

"Because I wish to take the Oath of Succession, Father, to the new Queen, Anne Boleyn."

At once he was alert. Leaning forward, he scrutinized me fastidiously. Forcing my face to remain impassive, I gazed steadily back at him.

"_**You **_will accept that Anne is my lawful wife, that I am Supreme Head of the Church, and that Elizabeth Marian Anna-Maria Eleanor Margaret Tudor is Princess of Wales instead of you?" he asked in consternation.

Closing my eyes, so that my father could not see the envy and resentment which flared briefly in my sapphire-coloured eyes before I regained control of myself, I nodded.

"Aye, Sire."

"By God, this will please the queen! Will you swear it now? Here? Before witnesses?"

"Aye, I will, My Liege." I replied clearly, never guessing what was to follow.

"Then come, Maria! Come at once!"

Using the Spanish version of my name, which he only did when he was deadly serious, Father rose from his throne, and strode from the room, leaving me with nothing else to do but scurry along in his wake.

Moments later, we reached Anne's birthing chambers, and for the first time, I faltered. Was I really ready to publicly renounce my title of Princess?

As if he sensed my reluctance, Father glanced back at me with warmth in his eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Maria?" he asked gently. "I'll understand if you don't. After all, little more than three years ago, you told Anne to her face that you recognized no Queen but your mother."

My eyes filled with tears at the memory of my compassionate, ever patient, and longsuffering, if occasionally spirited mother, but still I responded firmly.

"A lot has happened in those three years, Your Majesty. I am sure."

Confident as I sounded, inwardly I was by no means quite so convinced.

"It's too late for any qualms now, Mary." I told myself, as my father offered me his arm, and we swept regally in together.

For a moment, I scarcely dared to breathe. Perhaps I had dreamt all those years of humiliation and hardship. Perhaps I was but seven, the favoured princess of England, and it was actually my mother, Catalina Isabella Juana Maria Tudor, lying there in the birthing bed.

"Henry! What do you mean by letting this _**bastard**_ enter as though she is a Princess of the Blood?" Anne's sharp voice burst the bubble of my daydream.

Collecting my thoughts, I glanced around, and saw Elizabeth perched on the end of her mother's bed. I focused on her unruly, flaming red curls and swift, darting, yet trusting blue eyes. Maybe if I kept looking at her, I could get through what I had to do without fainting or breaking down.

My father gave me a little push, and I stepped forward, and then fell to my knees before Anne.

"Your Grace"

"What is the meaning of this? What is Lady Mary doing?"

Hiding a smile at Anne's obvious discomfort as I showed her respect, I explained "My Lady, nay, my queen, I am here to take the oath of succession before your very eyes.

Three years ago, I told you you were no queen, but merely my father's mistress – his concubine. Then, I was young and headstrong – and my mother was alive.

A year ago, my mother died, and I have matured since. My father was free to remarry, and his choice fell upon you, Lady Anne. Ergo you are now Queen, and I shall swear fealty to you."

"How wonderful!" Anne clapped in her delight, and motioned for a servant to bring forward the oath. Scanning it briefly, I began.

In the past, I had always begun my vows thus: "I, Mary, daughter of the right excellent, right high and mighty Prince and Princess Henry, by the grace of God King of England, and Catherine, Queen of the same..." Not any more. Instead, I started "I, Lady Mary, the King's bastard daughter, whom it so pleaseth him to recognize as his own, do hereby swear fealty to Anna-Maria Boleyn, Queen of England, and grant that her offspring, daughter Elizabeth, and sons Edward and George, are the lawful and rightful heirs to the throne of England above myself, the Lady Mary Isabella Tudor."

Somehow, I got through the rest of the vow as well, and could finally look up into the queen's bold, searching gaze.

"Well enough, Lady Mary. You may go among my women." Anne said at last.

Thankfully, I rose to my feet, swooped into a curtsey and retreated.

The other Ladies-in-Waiting closed around me like a curtain I could hide behind, as I strode through their midst, my lips curving up into a grim smile at the irony of it all. Less than a decade ago, I had been the unchallenged Princess of Wales, and every man, woman and child had knelt before me. Now _I_ was the one curtseying to many a person, for they were my betters, now that I was merely Lady Mary.

A few women smiled at me, most nodded civilly, but a turn of a head caught my eye.

I spun around, and found myself facing –

"Kitty? Kitty Percy? Katherine Elizabeth Percy?"

"_Howard,_ Mary. Katherine Elizabeth _Howard. _I am married now, if you remember."

"Kitty!" I gasped, and folded the older woman into my arms, breathing rapidly in my ecstasy.

Laughing as she released me, Kitty looked me over with one of those quick, clear, appraising glances the Howards are so good at.

I raked every inch of her just as rapidly, and decided that, although she looked not a day younger than her twenty-seven years, she was blooming with health and vitality.

Katherine Elizabeth Howard was an old lady-in-waiting of my mother's, and my closest friend. Even after 1530, once I was banished from court, and she served Anne alone, Kitty had risked the Boleyn's fervent displeasure in writing to me twice a month. For that steadfast loyalty, I loved her like a favourite sister.

"Come, Mary, let us sit together, and you can tell me all you've been doing these past seven years."

"You know perfectly well what I've been doing! Let us talk of you rather than me."

As I spoke, Kitty put her arm rather nervously about my shoulders, and propelled me across the room to a vacant window-seat she had spotted. Whilst we were making our way over there, we lapsed into Spanish, which my mother had taught us both, so as not to be understood by the English ladies who surrounded us.

"How many children have you now? 3, isn't it?"

"Nay, five. 2 strong, lusty, beautiful boys, and the rest all darling daughters, girls as pretty as picture-book princesses."

"Sweet. What are their names – all their names?

"In age order – Maria-Anne, Robert, Amy, Thomas and then the baby of our family, Laetitia-Elizabeth."

"For the love of God, I hope you'll shorten them eventually!"

"Naturally"

"Forgive my asking, but I recollect you being pregnant more than five times. What happened to the rest?"

"Two miscarriages, one stillbirth. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah, I see. Of course you don't. By the way, where _is _Maria-Anne? Surely she's old enough for court by now?"

"Aye, eleven summers. I'll definitely have her brought up to court from Norfolk in the New Year."

"Good. I can't wait to meet her. With a mother like you, and a Howard father, she's bound to be pretty."  
"But not as pretty as you, my princess."

"Katherine! Thank God we speak in Spanish! You must _never _call me Princess again! You know perfectly well what Her Majesty thinks – and says, and does." Sighing slightly, I turned resolutely to my old friend, who still shook her golden head.

"Why should I not? You, Mary, are the sole rightful heir."

"An heir who just happens to have signed away her rights to the throne – publicly. _Please. _Kitty, if you ever loved me, call me just plain Mary, as you used to do."

"All right, all right. Your wish is my command."

Scowling, I glared at her, and then laughed, rather spoiling the effect.

Just at that moment, red-haired Elizabeth slipped off her mother's bed, and came to claim me for a basse dance, as the queen's minstrels struck up a sprightly tune.

Curtseying, I laid my hand in hers, and followed the hem of her gown as if I were honoured to do so, as though I did not think that she, Elizabeth, ought to be making way for me as if I were Queen already.

Moments later, I gave myself up to the joy of the dance, and leapt, curtsied, twirled, smiled and swished my way through the remainder of the afternoon.

*****

Barely a week after I had had my talk with Kitty, Anne went into labour.

Unlike with Elizabeth's birth, I was not actually commanded to be present in the birthing chamber, so I stayed with Elizabeth and her brother, Edward, amusing them, singing to them, reading to them, bathing them – anything to take their minds off the distant screams echoing from the other end of the palace.

At last, several hours later, just past midday on the 12th of October 1537, Lady Mary Stafford, Her Majesty's sister, came in, looking flushed and happy.

Elizabeth signed to me, and I leapt up to stand at her side.

"What news of Her Majesty, my lady? Is she delivered of a healthy son?"

"Nay, Lady Mary. A fine bonny daughter. A sister for Bessie."

At this, Elizabeth jumped up, and forgetting all decorum, bounced around the room, singing in her great delight.

"What is the child's name?"

"Anne. Anne Frances Cecily Tudor, Princess of England."

I nodded, and backed off.

That was how I found out about the queen's fourth child. She was not a boy, the longed-for boy, but a girl – a pretty little maiden.

Still, after Her Grace had miscarried last year, she was a symbol of hope for both members of the royal couple – she was the living, breathing proof that they were both still young enough to have yet more children born to them.

I called her "my sister Princess Anne – a Tudor rosebud."


	3. A new Mistress

_Here's another chapter of my Happy ever after story to tide you over until I get my act together and post another part to my Sister to the Queen. R and R!_

_2_

_A new Mistress_

However disappointed His Majesty might have been that Anne was not a son and heir, he didn't show it. Anne Boleyn was queen in his heart once more. Her slightest wish was granted – even the christening was delayed until after her churching, so that she might be present at the feast after the ceremony.

Meanwhile godparents had to be chosen – Margaret Douglas, the King's niece and ward, and Mary Stafford nee Boleyn, Her Majesty's sister, served as godmothers, while Sir George Boleyn, the Queen's favoured brother, took up the post of godfather.

Little Anne's household was hand-picked by their Majesties, and was at least 200 strong, 40 maids of honour among us.

Yes, I said us, because Elizabeth lost me to her sister, just as, 15 months before, she had lost her governess, Lady Margaret Bryan, to her youngest brother George.

Catherine Carey, Queen Anne's niece, was also among our number, as was Kitty Howard's eldest daughter, who was ordered up to Court from Norfolk to wait upon the Princess.

As tradition required, we were sworn in the day before the christening, so that when she was brought out from the chapel in her godmother's arms, we were ready, and waiting to kneel before our new mistress.

During the feast, my father carried Anne around the room, dandling her in his arms, just as he had done with both me and Elizabeth in the past. Remembering how his great love for us both had soon gone sour, (or rather, would have in Elizabeth's case, had she not incredibly rapidly been followed by a brother), I allowed my mask-like smile to slide off my face.

My father, the King, must have seen, for he tenderly placed the babe in her mother's arms, spoke briefly to George Boleyn, and then came down to sit on a stool at my side.

"How now, Mary, why so solemn? This day should give us all such joy."

"Aye, sire, and it does, but look at her. Look at the Princess. She's so tiny and precious. Precious for her blood, not simply for who she is.

Now, were she a boy, everyone would adore her for herself, _and_ England would have its crucial third heir."

"You _are_ astute, Mary. Were you are a man, you'd have a seat in my Privy Council for sure"

"I thank you, Your Majesty"

At this point, a tray of the best sugar ribbons came towards us, borne by a bowing servant in crisp royal livery, and we broke off our conversation long enough to make our choices. This business concluded, His Grace turned back to me.

"What you say is true, but I very much doubt that Anne will ever _not _be loved for herself. Even if I never have another boy, a boy to be the spitting image of his father – well, look at her."

Simultaneously, our eyes flicked to the dais, where Queen Anne Boleyn sat in a great, gleaming, golden throne, her daughter and namesake on her lap.

As if Anne felt our eyes upon her, she glanced up, held our gaze, laughed, and then made the princess wave in our direction.

Raising our hands in greeting, we too chuckled, before my father heaved his great bulk to his feet, saying "Nay, nay, my dear, stay seated" as I also rose to sink down before him, and curtsey low as he left me.

Breathing in deeply, I fought to calm myself. My father had talked to me twice in recent weeks, once wholly alone, and just now, he had used an endearment for me. Maybe, just maybe, he still loved me. Perhaps he would even restore me to my former position.

Dizzy with bewildered joy, I twirled down the passages of the palace on my way to bed, and, that night, it was a terribly long time before I slept.

****

Of course, I was wrong. His Majesty had no idea of doing any such thing.

Delighted as he was to have my loyalty to Anna-Maria, his mind and heart had been too poisoned against me by my own steadfast yet sweet defiance of him, and also Queen Anne's fervent hatred of me over these last few years for him to even _contemplate _restoring my title to me, let _alone _my place in the Succession.

Having no alternative, I clung to my last faint, feeble hope, despite all odds to the contrary.

Even when the Duke of Suffolk himself told me that I was to move to Ashridge with Prince George and Princess Anne, I refused to obey his command, still trusting my father absolutely.

"Writing. I want that in writing, and signed by the King himself before I'll obey. The King himself, do you hear? Nobody else will do!"

To my surprise he produced a travel-worn document and thrust it savagely beneath my nose. With round eyes, I took in my father's seal, and gasped "This cannot be!"

"It _can _be, for it is the will of the king. Pack your trunks at once." the duke ordered. Compressing my lips, I swept the finest curtsey I could bring myself to do before this arrogant man, and then marched away, back straight, my head up, a touch of haughtiness still in those once lively eyes.

An hour later, mu own trunks packed, and fitted neatly onto a cart, I joined the rest of the maids to help them pack up the little Princess's belongings. I found myself working with Maria-Anne Howard, and, to my surprise, Jane Seymour.

"Jane". Smiling courteously at the woman, I began to fold up blankets.

"Lady Mary" she replied, and we worked for a little longer in silence, before, unable to restrain my curiosity, I blurted "Don't you wait upon Her Majesty, Jane? Not Princess Anne?"

"I am no longer in Her Majesty's service."

"What?! What on earth happened?"

"You _know_ what happened, Mary. 3 years ago, during Edward's birth. Think back."

My brain suddenly clicked into a higher gear, and the memories came flooding back.

"Ah. You were my father's much-favoured mistress. Now I remember!"

"Aye, and throughout George's birth, as well. Queen Anne bore it, because she had to, because there was nothing she could do, bloated and dull with pregnancy as she was. Once she was the invincible Queen, Queen in Henry's heart forever, why, then I was dismissed at the drop of a hat – on a trumped-up charge, as well!"

"I'm sorry, Jane" I murmured.

"Nay, Mary, don't be. His Majesty was tiring of me anyway, and I of him."

"Hush! You speak of the King!!"

"So? Is he a god now, that I may not speak my mind?" Jane retorted, rather sharply for her, I thought. Perhaps realising it, she softened.

"Yet he has been good to me, and my family, I'll not deny that."

At this moment, Lady Shelton, Anne's newly-created governess, entered, overheard our conversation, _and _saw our neglected work.

"Mistress Seymour! Lady Mary! Cease prattling and attend at once to your work! We leave at first light."

"Yes, madam" we mumbled swooping in unison down into curtsies, though Jane's was rather deeper than mine.

The rest of the day passed in the dull drudgery of packing up a court.

In the grey twilight dawn of the following morning, our procession set off.

Her Majesty and her sister, Lady Mary, (I ought to have said Marianne) Stafford, stood in the doorway, waving off the Prince and Princess.

To my relief, I was reasonably near the front of Anne's household, being the king's daughter, even though I was now by law illegitimate, so they swiftly passed out of sight.

Then 2 year old Prince George beckoned me to his side – to entertain him, he said, so I left Anne's group of maids, and rode my horse alongside his litter for the remainder of the journey.

George was my favourite of Anne Boleyn's children; possibly because he let me treat him like my own child – as long as we were alone, that is!

As he returned my affections, we always passed an exceedingly merry time together, and this ride was no exception.

With some regret, I saw the halls of Ashridge approaching, as dusk closed in around us.

"I'll leave you, George. Ashridge approaches." I murmured tenderly, turning my horse's head.

I saw he would call me back, but I whispered softly yet firmly "I must, for your sister Anne is my charge, and I ought to have been with her retinue this hour since."

Before he could protest, I leant from the saddle, kissed his hair quickly, then spurred my horse away from him rapidly, muttering apologies to any senior horseman or woman I was forced to brush past on my mad dash to what I now had to call my rightful place in the lengthy train of travelling courtiers.

Half an hour later, we were sitting down to our supper, and within two hours, the royal children had been sent to bed.

I was on night duty for Princess Anne that week, and having finally settled her, I went quickly and quietly down the gallery to check on George.

He, too, slept peacefully, so I retired to the antechamber, said my prayers, and then, aching all over, collapsed into my narrow pallet bed.

Broken as my night would be, it was wise to sleep as much as was possible whilst all remained quiet.

Within another half-hour, I had followed my own advice.


	4. The Queen's visit

Here is a short chapter that wasn't in the original plan for this story, but was prompted by a question from Reganx – "Will there be an encounter between Anne and Jane when Anne comes to visit her son and daughter at Ashbridge?"

It set my brain moving and I thought "Why not? And why not have Mary and Anne encounter each other?" so since I'm going away next week, and won't be able to update, I thought I'd give you this instead.

Behold of Chapter 3!

_3 _

_The Queen's visit_

We reached Ashbridge early on a cool November morning. Kitty Howard had remarked "It's rather pointless really. As soon as we get settled, we'll have to turn around, pack up again and go back to Court for Christmas."

I had nodded, and had been about to agree with her when Lady Bryan entered the room. Knowing she would have been set to watch over me as I took up my duties as a Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Anne, I turned to my old friend, and said loudly,

"Yes, but Kitty, who are we to question the Royal Family of England?"

Kitty stared at me in consternation before spotting Lady Bryan.

"As always, you are right, Mary. Now, come help me with the curtains." Kitty drew me towards the window and further away from Anne's sharp-eyed governesses, out of earshot. Then she asked in Spanish "Surely you don't really believe that, do you, Princess?"

"Kitty! What have I said about calling me Princess? I'm _Lady_ Mary now, and you'd do well not to forget it."

"But-"

"No buts. Never stand in the way of the King and his desires, Katherine." My eyes filled with tears as I continued "I should know - I learnt the hard way."

Then I left Kitty standing there in silence, and went to help Catherine Carey, who was laying the little Princess's gowns in her clothes press, content that I had drummed Kitty's lesson into her firmly enough by bringing up my own experiences with my father, and also secure in the knowledge that I had done nothing that could displease either Lady Bryan, my father or Anne Boleyn.

****

Or at least, I thought I had not. Queen Anne thought differently.

Barely a week after we had got properly established at Ashridge, Catherine Carey, who had been hemming some sheets by the windows, spotted a carriage thundering up the drive.

It had the royal emblem on the door.

"Quick, we have to get these rooms presentable. Mistress Carey, put away those sheets. Maria-Anne, get me the Princess's pale blue damask gown from the nursery." Lady Bryan snapped.

"As for you, Mistress Seymour, and you, Lady Mary, you will leave the room immediately. Her Majesty will not wish to see you."

"Yes, Madam." Jane whispered, bowing her head. As she headed for the door, I stood firm. Queen Anne was my stepmother, and I intended to make her treat me honourably.

Margaret Bryan looked up and saw me standing there.

"Lady Mary. Did I not tell you to leave?"

"Lady Bryan, you did. However, Queen Anne has come to see her children, has she not? Correct me if I am wrong, but do they not include me, her stepdaughter?"

"They do not. Leave, Lady Mary, or else suffer the consequences."

I stood still. I did not believe that Lady Bryan, my former governess and close friend, would really punish me, and indeed she was wavering.

However, Lady Shelton, Queen Anne's distant cousin, Princess Anne's other governess, had no such qualms. Striding over to me, she slapped me, putting all the strength she could muster behind the blow.

"Do as you're told! I'll be telling Her Majesty about this!"

As I clutched my cheek in shocked agony, for it was of course, the first time in my life that anyone had actually struck me in such a manner, Jane ran back from where she had been frozen in the doorway.

"Come, Mary. Let's go. You're only making things worse for yourself."

Still stunned, I allowed her to lead me from the room.

****

Jane and I spent the next hour or so praying before the altar in the little room that we shared off Princess Anne's chambers. Suddenly, one of the little Princess's other maids of honour, Constance Talbot, hurried in.

"Mary! Jane! Come quickly. Her Majesty wants to see you!"

Puzzled, we rose, smoothed out our gowns and followed Constance.

Queen Anne was in the nursery, holding her daughter on her lap. When we entered, she thanked Constance, and dismissed all the other women in the room.

Jane and I went forward and curtsied to her reverently.

"Mistress Seymour. Lady Mary."

"Your Majesty."

"A moment, Mary. Let me speak to Jane first."

Nodding, I withdrew a few paces, and turned my head away, allowing the two women the illusion of privacy.

"Jane. You know that you are here only because His Majesty asked for you to be."

"Yes madam."

"Good. You are lucky to have his favour. Understand this, though, Mistress Seymour. You do not have mine.

If I hear of you ever harming my children, any of them, even if it is accidentally, you will be banished forever. Do I make myself clear?" Queen Anne's voice was like ice as she addressed my companion.

"Your Majesty, I would never – "

"You set your cap at the King. You took him from my bed. How do I know what you would and would not do? You are dismissed."

Jane curtsied silently, her head bent in shame.

As she went past me, her eyes down, I touched her shoulder, briefly offering comfort, before I went to stand before the Queen. Anne Boleyn regarded me with those searching black eyes of hers, and sighed.

"Lady Mary. What am I to do with you?"

"Your Majesty?" I was careful to keep a measure of respect in my voice, even though I did not believe that the woman seated before me truly deserved it. Like it or not, she had married my father, and as such, had to be treated like a Queen.

"I offer you friendship, and you refuse it. I try to honour you, and you shun me. I give you a place in my daughter's household, and you don't want it."

"Madam? I took it. I am here, am I not?"

"Yes, but the Duke of Suffolk had to _make_ you. He had to produce your father's warrant. I wish with all my heart that you'd just taken it."]

"You heard, then, madam? About my exchange with Charles Brandon?" It was meant as a genuine question, one meant to diffuse Her Majesty's anger, but in reality, it only served to inflame her already formidable temper further. Forgetting her rank for a moment, she sprang to her feet. Queen Anne was cast aside; Anna-Maria Jane Boleyn stood before me, and she was as passionate, as quick-witted, and as sharp-tongued as she had always been when she was just another one of my mother's ladies.

"Of course I heard of it! What do you take me for, a simpleton? Well I hate to disappoint you, Lady Mary, but a simpleton is one thing that I will never be. I had a servant report to me of your actions that night, though it was hardly necessary – Sir Charles went to your father, who came to tell me."

My own temper, normally so controlled you would hardly know I had one, unexpectedly flared as I looked up to meet the gaze of my mortal enemy, where she stood with her babe in her arms.

"I do not take you for a simpleton, mademoiselle Boleyn. Why would I? You have the sharpest mind at my father's Court; you have shown it time and time again.

Except when it comes to your children. What in heaven's name makes you think that I might be grateful for a place in the household of your daughter, even if she is called a Princess?"

"It is an honour, you know. An honour that many girls of your age are clamouring for." Anne seemed to have calmed a little, but I had not. My God, I was only just beginning to vent my anger, which I had kept bottled up for so many years!

"A dubious honour. An honour I would never want, Mistress Anne. I want honours, it's true, but honours according to my rank. Honours due a King's daughter." The words, words I had been longing to speak aloud for months, but knew I shouldn't say, could not say, if ever I wanted my father's favour, sprang to my lips before I could stop them.

"Honours due a Princess?! You are no Princess of England, Mary. You are a bastard, a mistake. Do you not remember signing the Oath?" Anne leapt to her feet again, swinging her youngest child to her hip as she did so.

"This child, the child in my arms, is a_ true_ Princess. You are not!"

Suddenly, I realised what I had just said. Weak with shock, I sank to my knees, praying fervently that it was not yet too late to undo the damage that had been done.

"I beg Your Majesty's forgiveness. I spoke in anger. Of _course_ I realise that I am no true Princess. I know in my heart that I am nothing but a King's daughter, and that Your Majesties have been nothing but gracious to me."

"I am glad to hear it, Lady Mary. Since you are only a young girl, hot-headed, as I was at your age, and since you may still be grieving for your mother, I shall show you mercy this time. Remember, however, that you are a bastard, not a Princess. You will not be shown the same clemency again. Understood?"

"Yes, my lady. You are indeed merciful." I knelt, and kissed her hand, hoping to disguise my loathing for her effectively by this outward show of loyalty.

"Hmm. You may go. Lady Shelton?" Anne called for her daughter's governess, who went to her side at once, sweeping past me as though I should have drawn even further out of her way, though the room was plenty big enough for two of us to pass unobstructed.

As I left, allowing the door to swing slowly shut behind me, I heard Queen Anne murmur "Have Lady Mary watched. One more defiance of me or my children, and she'll pay dearly for it. Change her roommate too. I don't like the fact that she's sharing with a Seymour. Put her in with Catherine Carey, or better yet, your daughter Madge. I don't want Mary mixing with those who might try to turn her against the Oath again, but family I can trust."

The door snapped shut, cutting off my ability of hearing what else Anne said.

****

Within days, the Queen's orders had been followed through. I now had to share a room with one of her closest relatives, Madge Shelton, and I was no longer allowed to hear Mass in Latin, although I was not forced to attend it in English. I suspected Kitty might have persuaded the Queen of this, for she always sent me a compassionate smile whenever anyone slandered my favoured religion, or tormented me for not attending with the rest of the household.

Thanks to her friendship, the days were bearable, but secretly, I longed for the day my father would realise that I now recognised Anne as his wife, that I was contrite for having caused him so much pain in the past, and only wished the best for him, as Kitty had promised me he would one day.

Then he might allow me back to Court, give me my own household there, instead of me having to wait upon Princess Anne, or at the very least, organise a marriage for me.

When would that be? I was 21 by then, and all I wanted was a husband. A young, handsome husband who could love me, and be the father to all the beautiful children I wished to have.

How much longer would I have to wait?


	5. Spoiled little Princess

**AN: Here's the next chapter – finally! I apologise for the wait – I've been away. As it is, enjoy!**

**Oh, for those of you following "Sister to the Queen" I hope to update that this weekend. R &R!**

_4_

_Spoiled little Princess_

_1542_

Five years. That's how long I would have to wait.

For the next five years, I travelled around England with the Princess Anne, visiting all the children's palaces – Hunsdon, Ashridge, which she owned, and which quickly became her special favourite, Tantridge, Sudeley Castle, Hatfield , even Ludlow and Beaulieu, both of which brought back poignant memories, for they had been my old residences in the days when I held the title Princess of Wales.

4 times a year – Christmas, Easter, Michelmas and Whitsun we were at court, and as long as we weren't too far away, Her Majesty rode over to see us quite often, occasionally with the King, though mostly alone, especially the first summer, and the following one, for she lost another baby, a healthy boy, in her seventh month of pregnancy, and sought solace in the company of the precocious Princess, her much-loved daughter, so as to avoid His Majesty's rage.

Little Anne, therefore, mostly grew up whilst travelling, away from her parents, but of course, being a Princess, she was obeyed in everything she said, even her most fanciful wishes.

Her elder siblings, Edward, Elizabeth and George, soon realised this and rapidly became quite sensible in the orders that they gave, but Anne …!

Let's just say it went to her head!

By the summer of her fifth year, she was fast becoming a real tyrant.

We gave her her own way in pretty much everything, I admit, but we only did it because we had to, because of her rank, and anyway, anything we really disagreed with her on, we wrote to her mother, the Queen about, and asked her advice.

However, unfortunately for us, her mother adored Anne, and thought she could do no wrong, so always took her part, and ordered us to let Anne do what she wished, and His Majesty never bothered to check – he trusted Queen Anne, because she'd brought Elizabeth up so well, and furthermore, he was too busy with the Princes to care much about his younger daughter, much as I had predicted five years previously.

Not so Her Majesty – presents too, lavish, expensive ones, most unsuited to a child of Anne's age, arrived on a regular basis, and much as we tried to keep them from her, we were nearly always unsuccessful, for Anne was a curious child, into everything, forever exploring some corner or other.

This got Jane Seymour into trouble not long after the Princess's first birthday, as Anne managed to pick some yew berries off a low branch and eat them. They gave her a stomach ache, and of course, Queen Anne jumped to conclusions, and almost dismissed Jane without a second thought.

Almost. Not quite.

Constance Talbot jumped in and took the blame instead, even though it meant her being sent home in disgrace, even though Jane had been the one watching the Princess in the gardens at Hatfield that day.

I asked Constance why she'd done it, why she'd saved Jane from dishonour, and she replied that she couldn't stand by and watch one of my friends being sent away, as I had few enough as it was, bless her. After that, there was nothing I could do but to thank her, bid her farewell, and bless her once more before she left us forever.

After that small scandal, life proceeded as normal, little Anne being as indulged as ever.

But really, I think the first time I realised just quite how spoiled Anne was by both her parents was when she was five.

The children, all four of them, had come to court for Michelmas, and their parents had sent for them. Lady Bryan, Mistress Champernowne, Lady Shelton and I accompanied the children to the King's Privy Chamber, and watched with pride as, one by one, our charges sank into their respectful bows or curtsies.

All except mine.

Anne forgot all the courtly manners she had ever been taught, and simply ran across the room and flung herself into her mother's arms.

We gasped – audibly!

I hurried forward to take the Princess from her mother, in order to make her do the required curtsey, but the Queen shook her head, and clutched her child to her, even as my father's face darkened.

"Anne." It was all he said, but the anger he conveyed – well, I trembled.

Queen Anne Boleyn, however, did not.

Fixing her eyes pleadingly on my father, she said sweetly "Henry, she is but five and we are alone. Let it go."

"Anna-Maria, I cannot allow standards of respect -".

Just before the King launched himself into his lengthy speech of righteousness, the Princess laughed, held out her arms to him, and sang "Pastime with good company, I love and shall unto I die."

He checked at the sound of her thin, yet bright little voice, and looked down upon her golden brown head. Then he lifted her in his arms, met her eyes and asked "Did you learn that to please me, Anne?"

Solemn as a councillor, the five year old maiden nodded gravely.

"Yes, Father."

"Well, aren't you a clever girl!" His Majesty exclaimed, setting Anne on her own two feet once more.

"I think that deserves a reward, don't you, Anne, my sweetheart?" He turned his head to gouge the Queen's reaction to their cherished daughter's achievement.

As the Queen nodded, he flashed her a smile of utter devotion, before turning back to his daughter, saying

"Well, Anne, my rose of a princess? What shall we do? You choose."

Unnerved by her father's keen gaze, Anne could not decide. Her mother bent and whispered something in her ear, and at once the petite countenance cleared.

"Let's call the musicians and have some music."

"Excellent choice, my darling." The King brushed a stray curl off his daughter's bright little face, before holding out his hand to the Queen, and asking "Anne, may I have the honour?"

"Of course, husband" she replied, mild as my own mother had been.

They took to the floor, and moments later, Edward and Elizabeth followed.

George danced with his cousin, the Lady Margaret Douglas, while Anne skipped around, humming as she went.

I think all of us would have been quite content to dance the day away, but at last Secretary Cromwell entered, bowed, and murmured "The Ambassadors from Navarre are here to discuss the betrothal of Prince George to Princess Jeanne, Your Majesties."

At once, Queen Anne inclined her head, stroked the fiery red curls of her eldest daughter Elizabeth in farewell, and headed for her throne, as my father followed, issuing orders over his shoulder.

"Elizabeth, go with Mistress Champernowne to your rooms. Edward, your riding instructor awaits you at the stables."

"Yes, Father" the youth muttered, bowing his way from the room.

"Mary!" I jumped as His Majesty snapped my name.

"Fa- My lord?"

Inwardly kicking myself for that slip of the tongue, I bobbed a prompt curtsey.

"Take George and Anne back to their rooms."

"Is Prince George not to remain here?"

"Nay, I'll send for him once he's changed into his newest robes of state."

"Very well, my lord. As you wish." I dipped my head and beckoned George to my side. He ran over.

Smiling at him, I beckoned Princess Anne as well, but she ran to her mother, and clung to her skirts.

"Mary likes George more than me!" she whined plaintively. Queen Anne's angry, flashing, dark eyes snapped up to meet mine.

"Nonsense, Your Majesty! Her Highness is imagining things. She is, and always will be, my beloved little Princess of England, and Marquis of Pembroke." I exclaimed, before stretching my hand out imploringly to little Anne.

"Come along, Anne. Leave the boring state affairs to your parents. They're nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about."

"I won't go with you! I won't!"

Anne's screams rang through the hall, as she shrank back into the safety of her mother's arms.

Had she been any other royal child, had her parents not been there, I would have most likely lost my temper and boxed her ears, if not shaken her roughly, until she obeyed, but under these circumstances, and facing the spoiled baby of the Tudor family, all I could do was grit my teeth, bow my head, and shoot my father a gleam of a pleading look from beneath my eyelashes, as he turned his head to investigate the source of the noise.

I stepped forward, meaning to prise Anne off her mother, but as soon as I laid my hands on her shoulders, Anne began to scream bloody murder.

"What is this? Why have you lost all self-control, Anne? Answer me!" My father bellowed right in her ear. The poor maiden only screeched louder of course, because he terrified her.

In bewilderment, His Majesty glanced up at his wife and me. At once we both began to speak.

"Henry, our daughter-"

"The Princess, Your Grace-"

"Silence, Mary! Let the Queen speak."

"Henry, our daughter had rather stay here during our audience with the Ambassadors."

"It is most improper, Sire. Do I have your orders to remove her forcibly?" As I asked, I stretched out my arms.

"Hold, Mary, I must think. Take George to his chambers."

"Aye, Sire." I backed off slowly, did the three required courtesies, and then escorted 7 year old George to his suite of rooms. Leaving orders for him to be dressed at once in his best, as the King had told me, I rushed back to the Privy Chamber.

As the guards admitted me, I caught a glimpse of my father's countenance. When he was considering like this, all his thoughts flitted across his handsome features in quick succession. He was thinking "It would be bad for the House of Tudor if our Princesses had to be carried out kicking and screaming. No-one would want to marry such wilful girls. Anne ought not to be here, however, so what do I do?"

Eventually, he murmured something into the Queen's ear.

"Oh, yes, she'll be good if she stays – won't you, Anne?"

"Yes, Mama" Princess Anne piped up, her light hazel eyes sparkling as she realised she was to have her way.

Knowing her as I did, there was no doubt she would be crowing over this to her sister when they next met.

Queen Anne spotted me skulking in the shadows, and called out "Leave us, Lady Mary."

I had to swallow my pride, bite back the sharp retort that readily sprang to the tip of my tongue and curtsey respectfully to her, as befitted a bastard courtier's attitude to her rightful queen. The awkward movement brought tears of shame to my eyes.

Mother would turn in her grave if she saw me now, but I had no choice! Now that Mother was dead, and Anna-Maria Boleyn was unchallenged queen, one disrespectful movement could cost me my life - and probably would, too.

Retreating to my bedroom, I gazed into my looking glass, absent-mindedly curving my lips into an empty courtier's smile. The reflected pretty face smiled tolerantly back, rich honey-coloured waves of hair tumbling down on either side, an attractive hint of melancholy defiance in the jaw and sapphire eyes. That girl was me, Mary Isabella Tudor.

"It's all right." I reassured myself. "I am the King's daughter, that's no small thing to be. My mother was Catherine of Aragon, aunt to the most powerful monarch in Europe. **And **I have the love of Edward Seymour. Not even Anne Boleyn, snapper-up of privilege and place that she is, can take this from me."

At the thought of Edward Seymour, my heart lifted, and the gay smile that I wore became genuine.

Edward Seymour was the brother of Jane Seymour, my father's former sweetheart and mistress, who, due to the King's favour, now served as a cupbearer in Princess Anne's household, much to the Queen's chagrin, for, Howard that she was, she hated any member of the Seymour family, and of course, Jane's closest relatives most of all.

Handsome and friendly, yet dark and ambitious, he had easily captured my heart, and recently, he had been behaving as though I, too, had captured his.

Perhaps I could now persuade him to marry me. After all, I had a decent dowry - each and every one of my cherished mother's jewels was now mine by right, as was a settlement of £2000, bestowed upon me by my aunt, the late Princess Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France, and Duchess of Suffolk.

If I could persuade him, and we obtained Father's permission, as we would have to do, what with me being his daughter, well, everyone would be happy, _even _Queen Anne, for she longed to have me married off, ideally either to a Howard or some baron of no consequence, so that Father would concentrate more willingly on the marriages of _her _offspring. Marry I would, but play her game I would not, nor would I stand nonchalantly by and let my mother be forgotten by history.

Never! Not in a month of Sundays or even a thousand summers!

I swore this to myself, vowed it then and there, before the mirror, much as, some years before, Anne Boleyn, then newly crowned Queen, and finally a mother herself, had publicly declared to bring down the pride born of my "unbridled Spanish blood".

Then, leaping to my feet, I smiled with poise and grace at my reflection, and fair ran from the room, to go in search of Edward Seymour, who, hopefully, was my future lover and husband.


	6. Betrothals and Marriages

_5_

_Betrothals and Marriages _

An hour later, I sat with Edward Seymour on a bench overlooking the fountain that Queen Anne had commissioned as a New Year's gift for the King some years before.

"Edward, what do I mean to you?" I asked, gazing lovingly into his deep, dark, trusting eyes.

"Mary, you mean everything to me, I swear before God. You are my sun, the only sun on an otherwise entirely grey, gloomy, dismal day at this supposedly glittering court. Why?"The compliment rolled easily off Edward's tongue, as he held my sapphire gaze. That was all very well, but it was not just courtly compliments that I was looking for, so I probed further.

"I've asked that before, I know. I got the same answer. Do I not mean more to you now than I did two months ago?"

"No, Mary." He replied, goggling at me in amazement as I forced his hand from my skirt, and sprang to my feet, cheeks flushed with anger and passion.

"Then, Edward Seymour, I shall leave you, and take my dowry elsewhere. Ralph Howard, I know, would snap it up in an instant!" Wrenching off my jewelled hood, I let my hair tumble loose down my back, and swing out behind me as I flounced away.

Edward took a moment to process what I had just cried out in my humiliation, but then he was after me, his strong young legs gaining on mine at every step.

He caught me by my pretty brocade gown as I fumbled with the latch of the palace gate, my vision blurring as sparkling tears gathered in my eyes, fracturing the light, and accordingly, worsening my ability to see, and having hands numb with the surprisingly biting September cold was not helping either.

Mary you **cannot** mean more to me than you did 2 months ago, for, even then; I loved you more than any other soul in Christendom!"

"Really?" It was so long since I had heard any sort of a proclamation of devotion, or indeed, of friendship, that I searched his face for any hint of falsehood.

"Really. In fact, Mary, would you do me the honour of becoming the one and only Mary Isabella Seymour?"

As he finished, Edward dropped to one knee with all the poise of a true courtier, and drew out of his doublet a little black velvet box. Opening it, he offered me its contents – a pretty ring; made of rose gold and set with an amethyst, my birthstone and favourite jewel.

For a moment, I was so overcome that I could not speak for joy, but I rapidly recovered the use of my tongue.

"Aye, Edward, I will become Mary Seymour, for better or for worse, and with a will, too!"

At once, he rose to take my hand, and carried it to his mouth for a kiss, saying "Come Mary, let us seek the King's permission."

Edward tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, and we set off for the Privy Chamber.

I had hoped my father would be alone when we asked his permission, but, much to my chagrin, he was not.

Anne Boleyn sat beside him, so close she may as well have been in his lap, and her dark head rested against his chest, as he ran his fingers tenderly through her raven hair.

Only when Edward dared to disturb this idyllic picture by clearing his throat, and murmuring "Your Majesties.", did my father, Henry Edward Robert Tudor, look up and inquire "Yes, Sir Edward? What can I do for you?"

"Sire, I come before you to plead for the hand of your gracious daughter, the fair Lady Mary, in marriage." Edward explained.

I truly believe that, had my father been alone that day, we would have obtained his permission, and been dismissed from the room in under five minutes, but as it was, Anna-Maria Boleyn sprang to her feet, jaw set, eyes flashing, voice ringing with indignation.

"Henry, this is impossible! How can you even _consider _allowing a _Seymour_ to wed your bastard? Is there not a Howard who deserves the honour?"

"Anne!" My father exclaimed, staring at her in utter amazement. "Be silent!"

"No Henry, I will not be silent! I am your rightful Queen, though you seem to have forgotten it! Mary cannot marry a Seymour!"

"Why?" My father looked genuinely nonplussed. Anne hadn't lost her temper with him like this since George was born. He'd thought her fits of pique were things of the past.

"Because Howards outrank Seymours, and as Your Majesty's daughter, Mary deserves -"

"You lie, Madam! You seek to place a Howard in every single position of power in the land!" Father's bellow of rage drowned out the rest of Anne's sentence. Oblivious to the fact that at least half a dozen courtiers were present, Queen Anne spun on her heel to face my father, throwing back her hair, and stamped her foot, not much, but enough to emphasise her point. Every inch of her emanated regal fury, and irate determination. This marriage would not take place – not if she could help it!

"All right, I do!" she screamed at him. "It's only right, they are my family! Besides, every minute you spend obsessing over _Mary's _future is a minute you could spend thinking of Elizabeth, or George or Anne, or Edward, your precious Prince. Precious! Hah, you haven't even given him the highest title, the usual title – Elizabeth still remains Princess of Wales, while he is just the Duke of Cornwall!"

"That was your choice -"

"Yes, but you didn't care! You didn't countermand my orders! Oh, no! This _bastard_ occupies your thoughts more than they ever do, even between them! I won't stand for it, I tell you! I won't! I'll knock some sense into you if it's the last thing I do!"

Queen Anne stepped forward, towards the King, and raised her hand sharply, as if to strike it into him, but he caught her wrists, and held her away from him, struggling furiously as she writhed and fought.

"Anne, please! Be calm!" Mary Stafford, the Queen's sister, rushed in, having heard the commotion, and threw her arms around her sister's waist, holding her as if all three of them were dancers in a tableau.

The King brought his face closer to Anna-Maria's, and began to croon "Anne. Do you want me to marry Edward and Elizabeth to the French Prince and Princess?"

"Oh yes, Henry!" she gasped, thrilled at the prospect of getting her own way, for she had begged for the double marriage for months, but the King had blatantly refused, at least until she gave in. Now it seemed as though he was considering changing his mind.

"And do you want George to be betrothed to Princess Jeanne of Navarre?"

"Yes." She breathed quietly, scarcely believing her luck, the Boleyn luck.

"And William of Orange for Anne, if we can get him?"

"Of course, Your Grace." the Queen dutifully murmured in reply.

"Well then, let me get Mary safely married off, and then I will write to Henri, and see to it that negotiations are reopened for your double marriage plans."

"Thank you, my love." Anne cooed sweetly.

"But you must treat Mary as though she were your own daughter – at least for now."

A look as black as thunder rapidly rolled across the Queen's face, before she pulled herself together, and nodded meekly.

They came across to us then, hand in hand, all harmony restored, and my father said clearly "Edward, I give you my blessing, as well as my permission. Mary may become a Seymour."

"Yes, and she must borrow one of my newest gowns for the wedding. Come, Mistress Seymour; you shall pick out your choice now in my trunks and chests." Queen Anne said, smiling in quite a friendly manner at me.

Astounded, I rose, but as we left, Anne threw me a glance that so clearly said "I'm doing this for the King, _not_ for you." that I realised the hatred that blossomed between us was still as strong as ever, and oddly enough, was comforted by that fact, for I did not think that I could ever get used to _liking_ Anne, never mind loving her as I used to love my mother.

True to her word, though, the Queen let me pick and choose among her best dresses, taking as long as I wanted. And when I could not decide between a sky blue satin and a pale blue watered silk, Queen Anne astonished me by saying "Take them both for God knows I have more than I could ever possibly wear."

I gasped and thanked her profusely, but she only said "Yes, yes. Get back to your Mistress – you've been away from her far too long. Send Eleanor Carey into me on your way out."

I nodded and forced a smile. Eleanor Margaret Boleyn-Carey was Her Majesty's niece, and favourite courtier. It was hardly surprising that she wanted her now – presumably to soothe her slightly before my father came to take her into supper.

Curtseying with the gowns draped over my arms, I rose and backed out.

****

Back in Princess Anne's rooms, all was chaos.

The maids flew about, gathering Anne's things together, and gossiping like magpies, and in the midst of it all stood Princess Anne Frances Cecily Tudor, Marquis of Pembroke, having a temper tantrum.

My eyes roved the room, searching for someone sensible, someone who might be able to enlighten me as to what was going on. They alighted upon Maria-Anne Howard, Kitty Percy's eldest daughter.

Dodging a flying tasselled pillow, I made my way to her side.

"Maria, what on earth is going on?"

"Her Highness came back from the Council Chambers in one of her moods, and then she wanted to wear her best dress to sup in. When we refused her permission, well – you know what she's like."

Maria-Anne gestured with her head to the sobbing, kicking and screaming princess. I nodded, understanding.

"Aye, that I do, but why all this hustle and bustle?"

"His Majesty is coming to sit with her after his archery, so she needs to look her best."

"Right. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

Leaving Maria-Anne, I ran to kneel at the Princess's side, and then, greatly daring, took her hand in mine. It was a mark of how upset she was that she didn't pull away at once, for, like her mother before her, she hated me with a passion. Never being a woman to let an opportunity pass by, I began to croon into her golden-brown hair.

"Come, Your Highness, what's all this about? Tell me, and I'll see what I can do."

"I want to be betrothed like George, and wear my silver taffeta to the party" she grumbled, not looking up. For once I was glad, for seeing me at her side would have made things worse – she hated me as much as her mother did.

"Ok, Anne. I'll see what I can do."I promised, rising to my feet, before looking down at her and announcing my condition.

"But you've got to be a good girl, and go and change into your silver damask, so your father can see you looking like a Princess."

As Anne reluctantly rose to her feet, Lady Shelton took her into the next room, flashing me a rare smile of gratitude.

I, meanwhile, sat with the rest of the maids in Anne's rooms, but, as I had been instructed, I left as soon as we heard my father's step in the hall. I withdrew, and began to plan for my wedding, which would take place in December.

My flower girl would be Katherine Stafford, as a gesture to the Queen that I recognised the Howards as her kin, and therefore as the first family in the land, save the King's own.

My bridesmaids were to be Jane Seymour, my new sister-in-law, and Kitty Howard's sister, Margaret Paulett.

My hair would be freshly unplaited, to make it curly, and rosewater, flowers, even sweet-smelling herbs, would be patted and woven into it. Of course, I would wear my newest gown – I was determined not to scrimp on this – the greatest day of my life.

****

Days later, we got a message from our ambassadors in the Kingdom of Navarre. The King of Navarre had set sail for England, bringing his daughter Jeanne with him in order to cement the betrothal between her and Prince George.

The King immediately cancelled our departure from Nonsuch, and transferred us to Richmond along with the rest of the Court.

On the 10th of October – two days before Anne turned 6 – the entire Court arranged themselves in the Great Hall and waited with bated breath for the nobles from Navarre.

Barely an hour later, they had arrived, with much swishing of skirts and capes, many dramatic bows, and a grand fanfare.

Among them was 4 year old Princess Jeanne, who, dainty and beautiful as a doll, went to her proposed mother and father, tossed her pretty auburn hair back lightly, blinked her glittering green eyes, and knelt before them.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke in her soft, almost scented English.

"I am proud and honoured to have been chosen to have you as my mother and father, and promise to do England proud, as its future Duchess of York and Countess of Wessex ought to do."

I doubt she understood the words that she spoke, but, as she'd been taught, she spoke them without hesitating,

"How enchanting!" Henry, we simply _must h_ave her for George!" Queen Anne cooed.

"You shall, Madam." The King of Navarre promised her. She flashed him a sleek, confident smile of delight, and then returned her gaze to little Jeanne, who, though trained not to show it, was trembling with fear and anticipation.

"Come, dear. I have a daughter about your age. Would you like to meet her?"she asked kindly, lapsing into her still fluent French.

"Yes please, Your – Maman." Jeanne replied, as sweet as she.

Queen Anne laughed happily, and then took Jeanne from the room, chattering to her like a magpie, still in French, which was Jeanne's preferred tongue. She took her straight past me, and though I merely curtsied to Her Grace, I gave Jeanne a little smile as she went past me, for I knew what it was like to be betrothed as a child.

Though I was only 27 in the year I married Edward Seymour, I had been betrothed four times already, once before I was even Jeanne's age.

****

The talks between my father and the King of Navarre concluded at sunset the following day, and then Prince George and Princess Jeanne danced a minuet together, both clad in elaborate midnight blue robes trimmed silver and ermine. Princesses Elizabeth and Anne sat together, one smiling broadly and tossing her flame-red curls around flamboyantly, the other barely suppressing a scowl as she watched her brother become the centre of attention. It was true it was her birthday the following day, and that we had planned a masque, fireworks, and even a tournament in her honour, but for now, she was not the centre of attention, and she hated it!

I happened to glance her way, and remembering the promise I had made to her, crossed the dance floor, until I stood beside Lady Marianne Stafford, Queen Anne's sister. Holding out my skirts, I curtsied, and she flushed, as she realised who it was.

"Good evening, Lady Stafford."

"Lady Mary. How are you?"

"Very well, madam. And yourself?"

"Also well, Mary, as are my children, praise the Lord."

"Aye, Thank God." I crossed myself as we watched Mary's daughter, Eleanor Carey, newlywed to Henry Neville (on the Queen's orders) dancing in a set with him and half a dozen others.

"She's another Boleyn beauty, Lady Stafford." I remarked, as I found myself unable to take my eyes off Eleanor's glossy blond curls, flashing deep blue eyes, and lithe figure, as she moved around the floor with all the poise, arrogance and grace of a Boleyn, of her aunt. Lady Stafford smiled gently.

"Her sister's set to follow."

"Is she?"

"Yes. Fair as Eleanor with a sweeter, readier smile – that's my Katy in a nutshell." I chuckled, and then silence fell between us until I tried again to breach the subject of Princess Anne. I ought really to have gone to the Queen or my father about this, but, not surprisingly, I felt most at ease with Mary.

"Fine party, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I notice little Anne isn't enjoying it much."

"No. She wants to be betrothed too."

"Oh? To whom?" Lady Stafford looked askance at me in her great surprise.

"Honestly, Lady Stafford, I don't think it matters – as long as she's the centre of attention!"

"That girl is getting more spoiled by the day! All right, tell her I'll speak to my sister. After all, no Howard girl is allowed to look as sulky as a baited bear for long."

Hiding a smile at the metaphor, I bowed my head and dropped a curtsey. Then I left her, just as, three days later, after a lavish party thrown to mark Princess Anne's sixth birthday, we left Richmond with her, and went to Beaulieu for the months preceding the Christmas season.

****

On the 16th of December, after we had rejoined the Court at Greenwich for Christmas, I took Edward Seymour as my lawful husband, every eye in the Court upon us.

8 year old Katherine Stafford was perfect as a maid of honour, and my bridesmaids glowed with pride at being chosen to accompany the King's daughter up the aisle.

Every detail had been correctly attended to, and the dress had been restyled and made over until it fitted me splendidly.

The ceremony itself was a complete blur, but at last, at long, long last, amid the blaring of trumpets, I firmly murmured "I do" and felt, rather than saw, Edward lift my veil and kiss me passionately.

When, as the bride and groom, we led the guests through to dinner in order of precedence, my father the King, my stepmother Queen Anne, and my brothers and sisters; Edward, newly created Prince of Wales, Elizabeth, the new Duchess of Richmond, now that my half-brother, Henry Fitzroy had passed away without heirs, George, Duke of York and Anne, who had just been given the title Duchess of Buckingham, as well as Marquis of Pembroke, all dressed in their best, were of course, at the head of the line.

These grants had been handed out in a lavish ceremony the week before, supposedly because my father wanted to celebrate my marriage, but, as everyone knew, it was really to soothe Queen Anne's fears that I would still, even now, be restored to the Succession, above her children.

The wedding breakfast and traditional dances flashed by, and suddenly, without either of us quite knowing how we'd got there, Edward and I found ourselves in bed, together, behind closed doors – utterly alone.

A shudder of nervous excitement passed through me. This wonderful man was about to have me. Would I conceive his child? I, for one, certainly hoped so.

Before I had time to wonder anything more, Edward was gently pressing against my shoulders.

"Lie back, Mary, lie back." he coaxed. "I'll try my hardest not to hurt you." he promised, as dreamily, I did as I was told.

Levering himself above me, Edward slowly began to ease himself down so that he was lying on top of me.

Slowly, slowly…

Suddenly, I could bear it no longer. My every fibre crying out with lust, I reached up, encircled his shoulders with my arms, and pulled his body sharply, almost savagely, on top of mine.

It all happened so quickly after that.

One minute, Edward and I were still struggling to find a rhythm in our lovemaking, and the next, I was huskily crying out in a rush of joyful pain, as with a great heaving sigh of relief, he thrust himself inside me and released.

I took him into me with a low moan of pleasurable fear, and felt complete – more complete than I had in almost six years - ever since my mother died.

Exhausted by the lateness of the hour, and the joy we both shared, I rolled out from under Edward, curled into the warmth of his handsome chest, and drifted off to sleep.


	7. Life at Court

AN: The scene between Mary and her father in this chapter comes, again, from a question in one of Reganx's reviews "Is Mary little Princess Anne's governess now, or is she still just a maid of honour?" In that chapter, she was **not** a governess, but now, she is becoming one – much against her will. Read on to find out more!

_6_

_Life at Court_

_1543-1545_

After George's betrothal, my marriage and Christmas, everyone expected life to go back to normal. Not so.

I was packing, yet again, for another move, this time to Hunsdon, when an unexpected letter with the Queen's seal on it arrived in Princess Anne's rooms. Taking it from the page as he stood at the door, Maria-Anne Howard crossed the room, and held it out to the Princess, who sat sullenly by the window, sulking over the fact that she would not get to stay under the same roof as her mother for months. Maria-Anne did this while on bended knee, as Princess Anne had recently been demanding we do, for she believed that, as a Princess of England, she deserved no less.

Anne impatiently broke the seal, not even thanking Maria-Anne, and began to read the contents, her soft young brow furrowing as she did so. Suddenly, her head snapped up, and her bright eyes sparkled afresh.

"Stop! Stop packing, I say!" she cried out commandingly, her voice shaking with happiness.

"As Your Highness wishes." we chorused. Anne looked up at each of us in turn, her eyes sliding over our waiting faces.

"My mother says I am to be allowed to live with the Court from now on, so that she can oversee my lessons and upbringing. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my lady." We whispered in perfectly rehearsed unison.

"Now, I am to meet her in the gardens for a surprise. Lady Mary, Lady Bess, you may come with me. The rest of you remain here and sew at the tapestry." Anne ordered, in one of her rare graver moments.

Rising to her feet, as we chosen two went to fetch our own cloaks, she stood quietly so that Jane Seymour could offer her a cloak. Until she saw it, that is.

"Not that one. The red one trimmed with swansdown." she snapped.

Jane blanched. The cape in question was a hunting one, fit only for cooler summer days – not the deep snows of winter. If Anne wore it, she would catch her death of cold for sure.

"Your Highness, the – the cloak is – is at the bottom of your clothes press." Jane stuttered.

"Then fetch it." The princess's voice developed a hard, dangerous edge – always a sign that a tantrum was imminent.

"Madam, you will catch your death of cold! I beg you, do not wear it." Jane dared to protest further, though I, standing on the threshold, watching the scene develop, silently begged her not to.

"Fetch it! Or do I have to tell my mother that you constantly and deliberately disobey me?" Anne's voice had become whiny and pettish. We were getting closer and closer to a tantrum, and Jane knew it. Bowing her head, she half-turned, enough to shoot the rest of us a desperate, beseeching look.

My heart went out to her. None of us ladies served Princess Anne particularly willingly, given how spoilt she was, but we two had the hardest time of it, for to be a Seymour, or the illegitimate Tudor, in the household of a Howard, and Anne Boleyn's daughter, at that, was not exactly a laughing matter.

Stepping swiftly up behind my sister-in-law, I brushed a lock of her hair off her shoulder, murmuring as I did so "Get it, Jane, or else we'll have a tantrum on our hands."

Nodding, she hurried off, as I knelt before the Princess. She may well have hated me, and to be honest, the feeling would have been mutual, had I not learnt to suppress my emotions very soon after joining Elizabeth's household, but she was my half-sister, and I never forgot that.

"Shall I tell you a story, my lady? One about you going Maying with your cousins, and being crowned Princess, no, _Queen _of the May?"

She hesitated, her profound loathing of me battling with her desire to hear the story.

"You wore ivory silk trimmed with white. Everyone knelt before you." I said temptingly. "White lilies and honeysuckle were woven into your hair. Lilacs too. I think there may have been a great feast in your honour."

It was enough. Anne was just a child after all, despite her rank. She sank down between my legs, on a cushioning fold of my gown, and settled back to listen as I, taking a brush between my fingers, and beginning to tease the knots out of her curls, started to tell the tale of the Maying Princess.

****

Jane rushed in not long after, bearing the longed-for cape. Anne sprang to her feet, but, as it was swung around her shoulders, she glanced longingly back at me.

"I'll finish the tale later, I promise. Come along now; we mustn't keep Her Majesty waiting any longer."

I rose to my feet, and curtsied as Anne swept away, accompanied by Lady Bess. Sighing with the relief that I had managed to avert her tantrum by myself, I followed.

****

Anne was thrilled by the surprise her mother had bought her; a dapple-grey pony with a long thick mane and tail. He had a little crimson leather saddle with trappings of cloth of gold.

Watching her excitement, I allowed myself to remember _my_ first pony; a small black one with an untidy mane. I had called him Midnight and loved him passionately, much as Princess Anne did hers.

Princess Anne named her fiery steed Stormcloud, and demanded daily lessons in riding, hunting, hawking, and how to use a bow and arrow. Of course, her mother gave her what she wanted, as she constantly did, and little Anne skipped for pleasure, before stroking Stormcloud's velvety muzzle once in farewell, and leaving the stables with her mother, wrapping her arms around Queen Anne's waist. Knowing what it was Anne wanted, Queen Anne heaved her daughter on to her hip, as she used to when Anne was just a baby, not a child of six years old, who was perfectly capable of walking on her own, and said "Oof! You're getting too big for this, Sweetheart."

"_Please_ Mama. I _want _you to carry me! Please? Just this once?" Anne cocked her head on to one side, and fixed her mother with her most pleading look - the look the Queen could never refuse.

"Just this once, then. Come on darling, let's get you back inside before you get ill. Didn't Lady Shelton give you a warmer cloak?" Queen Anne asked.

"No." Anne's voice was soft and innocent - as though she had not threatened Jane with dismissal over the matter. Queen Anne sniffed in disapproval, tightening her arms around the Princess, and hugging her closer to her own body.

"Hmm. I'll be having words with Lady Anne. She should know better - she's brought up nine children of her own, after all." Queen Anne turned, and strode back to the palace, jerking her head at Lady Bess and myself as she did so

Even though we generally hated each other, Lady Bess and I shared a look of annoyance as we followed both Annes back to the Palace, because Anne's every wish was granted, and with each one, she was becoming more and more impossible and hard-headed, as this matter of the cloak showed. Anne had never liked Lady Shelton - if she did get ill because of this, I wouldn't have put it past her to try and persuade her mother to dismiss her governess for carelessness and lax attention to her duties.

"I pity her poor husband. He'll get _such _a spoiled baby as a wife." my old friend Kitty Howard nee Percy had muttered the other day, and although I would never dare to say so so openly – I could not afford to criticise the Royal Family any more, not if I wanted to keep my head firmly on my shoulders – in my heart of hearts, I knew that she was right.

****

However_, _it turned out to be a good thing that little Anne was distracted by her new horse, because _a few _months later, we heard that George Boleyn, the Queen's much-favoured brother, had finally succeeded in doing what he had been sent to Paris to do – negotiating a double betrothal between Elizabeth, Edward, Francois, the French Dauphin, and his sister Marguerite.

George Boleyn came home in triumph, and Queen Anne held a feast in his honour. Regardless of her rank, she hugged him openly, her face gleaming with delight and pride, especially when he told her that he had managed to arrange for the 7 year old Princess Marguerite to come to England at the age of ten and be raised alongside her future husband, Edward, providing of course, that the betrothal was not broken off.

****

We were drunk with delight that dawn, and so many of the dawns that followed.  
However, Queen Anne kept disappearing without warning, and one morning, as I got up early to pray at my rosary, I could have sworn I saw her horse vanishing up the road towards Northumberland, the seat of the Percy family.

What was going on?

I made it my business to find out, to see if it was something that the Seymours could use to their advantage.

Well, at least I tried. Unfortunately for me, nobody, save Her Majesty herself, seemed to know what business she had in Northumberland that would mean her having to ride there herself so regularly.

I had _heard _that there was talk of a betrothal between Her Majesty's niece, Katherine Stafford, and one of the Percy heirs, but surely, even that wouldn't mean that the Queen herself would have to ride to Northumberland so often.

Surely the Percys would come to her, not the other way around?

****

All thoughts of Queen Anne, however, were soon dispelled from my mind, as, to my great joy, I missed my course in January. February came. I missed again.

I told Edward and he pressed me to him, kissed me fervently, and cried aloud "An heir? Already? Thank the Lord, Mary! What wonderful news! A Seymour born of a Tudor mother. Who would have believed it?"

Then he swept me off my feet, carried me over to the window, settled me down comfortably, and laid his palm against my stomach.

"These Tudor girls are fertile indeed." he teased. Lovingly, I stroked his cheek.

"As are the Seymours, Edward. As are the Seymours."

Suddenly, he grew grave. "You're not laced too tight, are you, Mary? If you are -"

"Nonsense, Edward! It's early days yet. I hardly show, after all. Trust me, I feel fine."

"Even so, perhaps you ought to go to Wiltshire this summer."

"No, no, no! If Mary Boleyn and a dozen others can have their babies at Court, then so can I."

"They're not the King's daughter."

"You'll not change my mind, Edward. Tudors are stubborn, I'm afraid. Especially those whose mother came from the House of Trastámara."

"Oh, very well." Edward sighed. "I'll leave you now. I'm sure you have plenty to do."

Edward rose, and kissed me. I nodded gratefully, as I took out my sewing, and began hemming some shirts for the poor.

My father came in to see his youngest child not long after, and I whispered to him "Deo volente, before this year turns into the next, you will have a grandchild."

He bowed his head, and wept for joy.

Princess Anne, dressed in a flowing, elaborate gown of silver satin, (far too elaborate for her age, in my opinion, but it was yet another gift from her mother, so there was nothing I could do) ran over, calling "Papa? Why are you crying? I am here, and I am well."

For a moment, I was tempted to slap her, and call her a brat, for ruining this special moment between my father and myself, but before I could actually act upon the impulse, my father, with a flash of his old, younger, more athletic self, swung her in the air, and made her fly around his head like an angel, or a silver bird.

She laughed, and kicked out her legs, forcing the rest of us to duck.

Then they sat together and played Pass the Lady, while Anne chattered away ceaselessly to her father about her lessons, the new children that had joined her household to be her companions, and of course, her pony Stormcloud.

Smiling benignly, kindly, indulgingly, he took her on his lap, and called for music.

****

Day after day passed by, the summer approaching rapidly. Queen Anne stopped riding to Northumberland so many times, and we had feast after feast, pleasure after pleasure.

Anne Willoughby, one of the Queen's Ladies-in-Waiting, caught his Majesty's eye, and he frisked around with her, even as Queen Anne raged at him, good temper forgotten in her disappointment and heartbreak, even as Scotland, that perpetual enemy of ours, mounted a force 100,000 strong to attack us.

Edward seemed worried, but I trusted in England's generals, not that I had much choice, for though I was quick, and a scholar, I was but a woman, a woman shielded from the majority of politics, trained to be conversant on many a subject, but, sadly, expert on none. Men ruled my world, governed my very existence – especially when I was heavy with pregnancy like I was then.

The King didn't care too much – once he had tired of his courtly affair with Anne Willoughby, and gone back to the Queen (as everyone knew he would, it was only a matter of time), nothing was to spoil his summer progress with Anne Boleyn and their children.

He had had several difficult summers in the past because of Anne, and the people's reaction to her, but now this one was to be perfect, unblemished by disease or angry crowds. The war could wait.

When I first realised this, I gazed at him with new eyes. He was no longer the young, handsome man I remembered as my father – the man who had played with me, danced with me, loved me and called me "The greatest pearl in all the world". Every inch of him looked weather-beaten and old, and sometimes, not even the Queen, or his precious heir, Prince Edward Henry, could rouse him from his melancholy thoughts, which were, all too often, racked with pain. I couldn't believe it.

"He really is getting old." I whispered to myself, forcing my brain to comprehend what I was seeing. "All he wants is a peaceful summer with his family around him. I never thought I'd see the day."

****

The Court was not to return to London until mid-October, but I withdrew for the whole of the month of August to begin my lying-in.

When I first saw the stuffy little room that was to become my home for the next three months, I went white and staggered slightly. It seemed like a prison to me, and I felt tears rising, but, thanks to the training in royal behaviour that I had received as a young girl, I was able to choke them back, even thanking the servant for doing such a thorough job as I passed him.

He bowed respectfully, and I felt in my gown, handing him a two shilling piece with a flourish.

He took it, mumbled his thanks, and melted away, presumably to get himself a mug of ale, while I proceeded into the room, and knelt before my crucifix, to ask God for a safe delivery, and for a healthy son in particular.

Edward had reassured me that he didn't mind what I had; that a girl would be just as precious, but, as a former Princess, I could never quite shake off the sense of duty that constantly plagued me, the sense that nothing save for a lusty boy would do – an acknowledged healthy boy.

****

I was hardly short of visitors in my birthing chamber. Kitty Howard and her daughter both visited regularly, and Eleanor Neville nee Carey also slipped in upon occasion, despite the Queen's annoyed reaction, as did her mother, Mary Stafford.

I always greeted everyone with an easy, smiling grace, and not once did I allow anyone to see my smouldering resentment that they could walk in and out as they pleased, and I could not. However, whenever anyone left, I would fling myself down among my many cushions, and sigh bitterly. It was September, my baby was not due until the middle of the month. An eternity stretched before me.

Thank God she came early. My daughter. My dark Midnight Princess.

Isabel Katherine Seymour was born on the ninth day of September. A dark little infant, with an uncanny look of wisdom about her, she enchanted anyone who so much as glanced towards her.

Edward had wanted to call her Marianne, to try to please the Queen, but I laughed sourly at the idea, saying "Husband, you are a Seymour. I am the daughter of Catherine of Aragon, Her Majesty's archenemy. _Nothing _we do is going to please her, so we may as well be brazenly bold and name our daughter Isabel Katherine."

"All right then. Isabel Katherine it is. Marianne can be the next one's name."

"The next one?"

"I want Isabel to have a brother or sister. Don't you, Mary?"

"Of course. Forgive me, I am merely tired."

"No, no, the fault is mine. I ought to let you rest. Goodbye, Mary. My sweet Isabel." Edward got to his feet, kissed his baby girl, then kissed me tenderly on the forehead, letting his lips linger there a moment longer than was strictly necessary, before turning, and going out through the door. I watched him go, and then turned my attention to the babe in my arms.

"Oh, Isabel. Had you been born but eleven years ago, you'd be in line for the Throne of England. As it is, you are naught but a Seymour – beautiful, sweet, with an ambitious streak. Even so, you'll be a force to reckon with, I don't doubt it." Brushing my lips against her tiny cheek, I rocked her to sleep.

****

I was right. Isabel grew up in the royal nurseries alongside her aunt and uncle, Anne and George, (although George soon left us because he received his own household) for, much to my distaste, I had not been allowed to leave Princess Anne's household when I married, as I had expected.

In fact, when Lady Bryan sought Her Majesty's permission to retire from Court permanently, as Lady Shelton had already been dismissed over Anne's illness earlier that year, following the incident of the red hunting cape, my father called me in to his Privy Chamber. Wondering what the summons could be, I went. Ten minutes later, I was kneeling before him, begging him to reconsider.

"Father, please! I cannot raise little Anne!"

Why not, Mary? You have the languages, the grace, the skill in music and in dancing and countless other abilities. Anne would benefit from you teaching her."

"Perhaps. But -"

"I can think of no-one better, Lady Mary." Queen Anne cut in smoothly. I met her eye for a moment, and saw, to my horror, (but not to my surprise) that she could scarcely hold back a beaming smile of triumph. In that instant, I realised that she knew that her daughter was becoming spoiled. She knew, but she did not care. _That _was why I was becoming Anne's governess. Not because I was the lady best suited for the position, but because I was the only woman in England whom Her Majesty could ignore with a clear conscience, even if I did tell her that her child was becoming a spoilt brat.

I turned to my father, and tried once more to influence him.

"The Princess never listens to me, Father. Please don't make me try to teach her."

"Well then, Mary, you need to be sharper with her. That's all. Now, get you gone, and see about commencing your new duties in the morning."

"Yes, Sire." I curtsied reverently, and made to leave, but he stopped me.

"This new position is an honour, Mary. I expect you to behave as such."

I inclined my head, dipped another curtsey, murmured "I bid you good day, Your Majesties.", and backed slowly out of the room. There was nothing more to be done. I would have to become Anne's governess, whether I liked it or not.

"At least this way you can try and improve her manners, Mary." was all Edward said when I complained to him about the situation. I snarled in frustration, and went to breastfeed Isabel.

****

Isabel grew into a pretty maid, but one who had a sharp tongue on her. She didn't hold it easily either. If she thought Anne was being too domineering, which she often did, she would lash out at Her Highness, and often reduce her to tears. Princess Anne then ordered her to be punished, which I had to do, but secretly, I rejoiced in the fact that young Anne had met her match in somebody, albeit a girl almost seven years her junior.

So, I think, did my father, though of course, he never showed it. He did, however, treat Isabel with the affection of a granddaughter, and he created Edward and I Lord and Lady Seymour upon the day of her baptism.

Isabel was quick, and keen to learn, so, soon after her third birthday, I had ordered my old tutor, Gregory Cheke, to teach her her letters and numbers, even though I, who had been born a Princess, had not been properly schooled until I was five. Edward thought I pushed her too hard, but no, she thrived upon it.

By that age, Isabel had a sister, Marianne, who was just over 16 months old, and a brother, Thomas, not yet three months.

Princess Anne, touchingly, almost became a second sister to Marianne. Although she was still haughty and spoiled around everyone else, she willingly played with Marianne for hours, brushing her hair, dressing her, trying to teach her her letters and numbers.

When I first came across them doing that, I laughed aloud

"You'll be there all day with that, Your Highness! She's determinedly ignorant."

Anne leapt to face me, tossing her shining hair, eyes flashing with anger, Her hands went to her hips.

"No she's not! You just don't bother to teach her. You love Thomas and Isabel more, don't you? Isabel because she's your first, and Thomas because he's a boy."

"What?! Your Highness, that is the worst load of balderdash -"

"Don't you _dare_ deny it, Lady Seymour! Marianne's been having nightmares, you know."

Oh God! Had she? I hadn't realised how badly I knew my own daughter. I attempted to hide my shock, to keep a cool, impassive face, but Princess Anne, who curse her, was as sharp-eyed as her mother, noticed, for she noticed everything.

"You see? You don't know!" she crowed. "From now on, Marianne is my child as much as yours, and I'll treat her the way you ought to. Come on, Marie, let's ride my pony. I'll have the pavilion saddle put on."

The little girls left the room, Princess Anne taking my daughter tenderly by the hand, and reassuring her that she wouldn't let her fall as they went. I stood stock still, gaping after them.

Then I went to my pre dieu, and knelt, clasping my rosary, praying. Praying fervently, ceaselessly, desperately, for guidance.

Almost an hour later, when the girls were still down at the stables with a couple of Anne's favourite attendants, I heard a faint knock on the door. Jane Seymour, who had come in from the gardens, and was now sewing a little dress of peach satin for Isabel, her goddaughter, opened it, and took a letter from the bowing page's hand.

She scanned it quickly and gasped.

In an instant, I stood beside her. We served the Seymours now, both of us. If this could be used to further our interests at Court... well who knew what could happen?

I too, read the note swiftly, taking in every smoothly penned letter, and the queen's seal stamped in scarlet wax – the crowned falcon on a bed of roses.

"My God, Jane, this will interest our father." I remarked, raising my eyes to hers. In response, Jane nodded mutely.

The queen had written from Whitehall, where she had accompanied the King on state business, while Princess Anne remained at Richmond. The reason?

Princess Anne was to be betrothed.


	8. Princess Anne's Betrothal

AN; Here's the answer you were all looking for as to whom little Anne's going to marry – although I may break off her betrothal yet, in favour of another one! Enjoy, and read and review, please!

_7_

_Princess Anne's Betrothal_

_1546_

The proposed bridegroom was William "The Silent" from the House of Orange. 9 years older than Anne, he was already a young man, but not yet in his prime. The nobles of Orange, whose job it was to sign the betrothal contract in his stead, were to arrive in a month's time, and the ceremony was to take place the day after Twelfth night.

We ladies were thrown into a flurry of measuring, cutting and stitching, for Princess Anne had outgrown all her finest gowns, and needed some new ones.

The Queen ordered a gown of pale green silk to be made up, and embroidered with golden roses, so that it would match Anne's robes of cloth of gold trimmed with ermine, as befitted a Princess.

Anne was the worst of children when it came to fittings, constantly wanting to stretch, move, or at the very least, smooth her hair back with one hand or another, which was a nightmare for the seamstresses trying to do their job. In the end, in desperation, I began to teach Anne some new songs to sing for her parents, so that she would be concentrating on them instead of what she could be doing.

Anne took up the challenge with gusto. Her favourite song was "Sommer ist ins Land gekommen", a German song I had learnt whilst on a state visit to Cleves back in my own childhood.

We sang it at the beginning and end of each fitting, and before long, Anne knew it almost better than I did.

It was during those fleeting hours that I loved Anne better and more dearly than I ever had before, because she wasn't arrogant then, she was just a normal nine year old girl who loved to sing, and delighted in wearing beautiful dresses, of which, being a Princess, she had plenty.

This new betrothal gown was no exception. Deep green emeralds were sewn on to the silk of her dress, and the contrast worked beautifully. Her robes were held in place by a great ruby brooch which her father had given her, and which was carved into the shape of a rose – A Tudor rose. On her head was a light yet elaborate circlet of pure silver, set with rubies and emeralds, the symbol of her rank as a Princess of England, Duchess of Buckingham and a Marquess of Pembroke.

I remember nothing of those days, save the glitter of rich fabrics, and the sparkle of lavish, expensive jewels in the dim light given off by the flickering, dancing, golden flames of the candles by which our urgency forced us to work.

Night after night, I would retire to bed, long after midnight, my vision blurry with exhaustion, my eyes itching with a vengeance, my wrists and head bound up in a burning ball of excruciating pain, but always relieved that one more day's work was over, for that meant that, although our deadline was drawing ever closer, our set task was also steadily shrinking.

Edward was so understanding during those frantic weeks – so gentle, so patient, so tender. He was almost surprisingly good to me. Every night, without fail, he would fetch me a cup of spiced wine mixed with poppy tears to ease the pain and help me sleep. Then he would wrap me in another blanket, lie me down on our bed, and start to draw his hands over my eyes using short, soft, smooth, stroking movements, moving his hands ceaselessly, until I sighed with contentment, and drifted away from him, into dreamland.

I had broken nights of sleep too, for often I would wake, crying out and choking, and drenched in panicked sweat, from a nightmare which included candles, lethal needles and poison.

Edward always soothed me with sweet nothings, and promised "Mary, it'll be all right. It'll be fine. It'll be worth it on the day. She'll look stunning. How could she not? You've done a splendid job. There's nothing to worry about. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of everyone's efforts."

"If the King and Queen should not like them -"

"You've done everything they wanted. Anne will look every bit a Princess, every inch a future Queen. She will do the Tudors proud, and I swear to you, your handiwork will too, Mary."

"You think so, dearest?" I asked sleepily.

One quick, sweet, momentary kiss. One light, loving, heavenly caress.

"I know it. Go to sleep, dear. Rest."

****

Scenes like that between us recurred over the nights of the following weeks, but he was right.

The day, the long-awaited day, came at last. William of Orange sent his cousin to represent him, and the betrothal went ahead as planned.

Anne, looking as radiant, and as confidently lovely as Edward had predicted she would, spoke her vows in a strong, clear yet slightly lilting voice, as she swore herself to William of Orange, and promised to marry him as soon as was possible after she reached the age of fourteen summers.

As she finished, the trumpets blared, and the court cheered her and clapped her, shouting her name over and over in a great, full-throated roar.

Anne Frances Cecily Tudor, Princess of England, Duchess of Buckingham and Marquess of Pembroke, had become the Princess of Orange.


	9. Princess Marguerite

_8_

_Princess Marguerite_

One more person at the betrothal of Anne Tudor, who had only been in England a matter of weeks herself, was Princess Marguerite de Valois, Edward's future bride.

She had come to England not long after Michelmas, along with her retinue of 150 French Maids of Honour and Ladies-in-Waiting, and had had the ordeal of meeting her future parents in public, whilst they were dining.

Poor girl. She was pretty and confident, yes, she had been trained to appear in public as soon as she could walk, it was true, and yes, she had known the meeting was coming, but even so, it was an ordeal that no 11 year old should have to go through.

I remember it as though it were yesterday.

The fish course had just been served to us, and I had taken a fillet of freshly poached salmon, my favourite dish, when, all of a sudden, the herald blew into a great gilt trumpet, startling us all with the blast.

Every eye, including the King's, flicked to the door, as he announced "Her Royal Highness Princess Marguerite of Valois, Princess of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall."

As if at some discreet signal, Marguerite started forward, her travelling cloak of grey wool swirling around her, effectively accentuating her slim, healthy figure, and her pale blue dress of velvet.

Her beautiful, slightly curling ginger hair hung loose over her shoulders like a virgin's, though it was held in place by a wide strip of deep blue velvet ribbon and a jewelled clip set with sapphires,

Halfway down the hall, she seemed to tremble. She was wavering, losing her nerve.

I longed to help her, to comfort her and set her at ease, but I was too far away. All I could do was hold my breath, and begin to chant a fervent, silent prayer for someone else to help her. Thankfully, someone did. Katherine Neville nee Carey. The young 19 year old woman, who now had two children of her own, one of whom couldn't have been that much younger than Marguerite, sprang swiftly to her slender feet, and ran down to the Princess's side. She took her arm tenderly, and, whispering words of advice and comfort into her ear, led her to the dais, where they sank into matching, respectful, graceful curtsies before the King, and waited for His Majesty's response.

"Welcome, Marguerite, my daughter. Katherine, you have my thanks. Return to your husband now."

"Sire" Katherine replied, curtsying and retreating, even as Marguerite shot an anguished glance, a plea for help and reassurance towards her. When none came, Marguerite breathed in deeply, summoned up all her courage, and turned to face her new father, lowering her eyes in fearful, almost sheepish respect.

I gazed at her with new respect, allowing myself the luxury of a smile at her actions. Though Marguerite had only been in England a matter of days, she already knew how best to play our King (though thinking about it, I suppose Katherine Carey might have told her to do it).

My father, too, seemed much pleased by her manners, as he leant forward to study her more closely, saying warmly "Well, little Marguerite -"

"Margot" she whispered, showing us all a quick glimpse of the fiery spirit which was to become her trademark when she was Queen.

My father looked taken aback, for no-one, save perhaps Anne Boleyn, ever corrected him, and especially not in public like Marguerite just had.

"Pardon, miss? Speak up a little, and repeat yourself. I could not hear."

Margot lifted her head, and stared him in the eye, as if daring him to say that her next words were not true. "Margot, Sire. I am called Margot by my brothers."

The King held her gaze for several long moments as the Court held its breath, and waited to see what would happen. Had Marguerite been too bold, too daring? Would the King be angry?

No. He threw back his head and laughed, and the Court, utterly relieved on Margot's behalf, followed his example.

"Bold little maid, aren't you, Margot?" the King asked, when he could speak again, for his laughter had turned into a drawn-out, raspy cough.

"So my mother and governesses say, Sire," she replied innocently.

Queen Anne laughed this time, reaching out a hand to Margot.

"Just what my mother used to say about me when I was your age! Come, sit up here beside me. I can tell we're going to get on very well indeed! Would you like something to drink?"

"No thank you, Madam, though you are very kind to offer."

"Oh, come, you must be thirsty. I know _I _always am, after riding a horse for any length of time."

Queen Anne's pretty French rang through the hall, and Margot accepted her offer with visible pleasure.

The King held up a hand to halt her, however, as she began to rise.

"Just one moment more, Margot,"

"Sire?" she turned to him, eyes wide with innocence and unasked questions, hair rich, soft, and curling down past her waist, a hint of a becoming rosy blush creeping up into her cheeks.

"Jeanne of Navarre promised to do England proud, as any new daughter should. Do you also promise such a thing?"

"I do hereby solemnly promise." Margot answered steadily, dipping down into a curtsey, and placing before him a token, a ring carved from rose gold.

He studied it carefully, and then nodded for her to rise and join his wife at the High Table, under the cloth of estate.

"Freshly pressed apple juice spiced with ginger for Her Highness." Queen Anne told the servers, and it was duly brought.

Those words were also the signal for the rest of us to return to our rapidly cooling supper, which we promptly did.

****

After they had dined together, the King, Queen Anne and Princess Margot retired to their private chambers, though not for long, for as soon as Margot had changed into a gown of russet satin, and had had her hair brushed and set beneath a jewelled hood, Katherine Neville, Marie de Guise, (a second cousin of the Princess and her favourite Lady-in-Waiting), and I accompanied her to Princess Elizabeth's rooms, where all four of the Royal Children had dined together, and were now awaiting their new sister.

I walked in behind Princess Margot, and so had plenty of time to study each of the children as their attention fixed itself wholeheartedly upon her.

There was Elizabeth, 13 years old, red-haired, self-assured and tempestuous. Every inch a Tudor and beautiful to match, she captivated anyone who clapped eyes on her.

Edward next; dark, handsome and serious. Perhaps he was not the image of his father, but he was a worthy successor nonetheless, for he had a deep sense of justice, a keen mind for politics, and an air about him that made every one of his future subjects feel listened to and respected.

George stood there beside him, George the joker of the pack. The warm one, the passionate one, he clasped little Anne to him tenderly, only releasing her to bow before Margot with all the mock gravity of a statesman.

"Your Highness, it is an honour. Welcome to England." Kissing her hand, he twinkled his eyes up at her, so that she could barely suppress a giggle.

Yet George had Howard in him too, anyone could see that. Behind the laughing blue eyes and the merry golden features, the Tudor features - his father's features – hid a true man of steel. A military man – like his great uncle, Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk. Any enemy would tremble at the sight of him heading the English forces. England was safe with him as her future general, as was Navarre, for he was to be King-Consort there one day, when Jeanne came to the throne.

And Anne. Little Anne Frances Cecily Tudor, Princess of Orange, Duchess of Buckingham and Marquess of Pembroke.

Most likely not the beauty of the family, with her light brown hair streaked with gold, and her dark eyes, which in some lights almost appeared to be made of liquid amber, she was without doubt the most _engaging _of the children, though Elizabeth was the prettier Tudor sister, and had the quicker mind.

With childish grace, Anne bobbed an indifferent curtsey, keeping her eyes fixed on Margot's almost defiantly

"So. You're our sister." she remarked, gazing at the eleven year old who was almost a full head taller than her with an arrogance born of being the family favourite, who could be denied nothing.

"I am." Margot replied, somewhat cautiously, something Anne was quick to notice, though personally, I could not blame Margot for being wary around this little girl.

Anne sent Margot a withering glance, but Elizabeth, perhaps keen to pour oil on the troubled waters said quickly "Tell me, what it is like in France, Marguerite."

"Margot. I am called Margot by my family," Princess Margot replied a little stiffly, partly due to shyness, partly because she was now on the defensive.

"Margot then. Tell me." Elizabeth pleaded, and Margot reluctantly gave an answer.

"Nice enough I suppose, though of course, I am biased. It is, after all, my native homeland."

"You must be able to tell me _something_ more, surely!" Elizabeth persisted, causing Edward to smack her, disrespectfully, between the shoulder blades.

"Hold your tongue for once, Bess. You fool; can't you see she still needs time to adjust?" To Margot, who glanced at him gratefully, he said "I sincerely apologise for my sister Elizabeth, my lady. She is frightfully like our lady mother the Queen, in that she never knows when to curb that ridiculously blunt tongue of hers."

At once, all Elizabeth's poise left her, and she was just an ordinary teenage girl facing her annoying younger brother.

"I'll get you for that, Edward Robert Henry!" she exclaimed, lunging at her brother. He twisted away, shouting for help, and George and Anne instantly joined in their rough and tumble game, whilst Margot stood to one side, amused and longing to join in, but not quite managing to overcome her great sense of dignity, which her mother, Catherine de Medici, had drummed into her, and which forbade her to join in such an impromptu, rough and tumble like revel.

Suddenly, Anne ran up behind her, and thumped her on the shoulder, in that classic gesture, which for centuries, has, among children, been the symbol which signifies that it is the receiver's turn to chase the others who are playing.

Recognising it for what it was, Margot threw off her thick rabbit fur cape, and fled after the others with the spirit of a Tudor and the endurance of a true Valois.

****

Undignified as their first meeting might have been, it was just as well that Margot was comfortable with her new siblings, for, the following evening, and she and Edward were expected to dance together several times, which they did – a basse dance, a minuet and a couple of country dances were among those for which the two of them took to the floor.

Marguerite, Queen Anne, her namesake, Princess Anne, Mary Stafford nee Boleyn, Katherine Neville, her sister Anne Stafford, and Princess Elizabeth were seven of the most sought after ladies that night.

_I _was the other.

Besides my husband Edward Seymour, John Paulett, Henry Howard, his brother George, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, Mark Smeaton (when he could get out of playing his volin), Sir William Breterton, Sir Francis Knollys, Sir Henry Norris and Sir Francis Weston, among others, led me out on to the floor numerous times each that night until I was almost fainting from exhaustion.

Thank God the King called a halt to the festivities the third time his wife danced with Henry Percy and sang "Greensleeves" into his ear as they danced to that very tune.

****

That night, I fell asleep almost before my head felt the soft downy pillow beneath it, but my last thought was of Marguerite in her smoky grey ball dress. Yes, she had done England proud as any new daughter should.

_AN: I know this chapter focused more on Marguerite rather than on Anne, but that's just the way it came out when I first wrote it. I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Has anyone spotted the first hints of the drama that will unfold for our favourite Boleyn Queen yet? If not, go back and read the ball scene again. You should pick up on it eventually. R and R, please!_


	10. The Death of the King

_9_

_The Death of the King_

_1547_

"The King is dead! Long live the King! The King is dead! Long live the King!"

Groggily, I pulled myself from the warm, pleasantly fuzzy and comforting land of dreams, and realised the crowds surrounding the palace were shouting – something had stirred them up.

Blinking the golden grains of sleep from my eyes, I got up, pulled a robe around my shoulders, crossed to the window, and threw open the slatted shutters, pushing aside the thick sheet of glass as well. Leaning out, I tossed my golden hair, letting it ripple out behind me in the breeze, as I breathed in deeply.

"The King is dead! Long live the King!"

I stumbled back, reeling. My mind was whirring, my mind spinning, refusing to take in what I was hearing. It was not true! It could not be true!

"The King is dead! Long live the King!"

"Edward! Edward!" I called for my husband passionately. He came in at a run, and saw my face.

He knew. He too had heard the shouts of the crowd. He knew, but he had no comfort to offer me. In an instant, his arms came round me, and I clung to him, unable to comprehend what had happened to me, to my father, to England.

My lips moved automatically, reciting the psalm "The Lord is my Shepherd" in a constant, fervent, yet utterly silent prayer, as I struggled to pull myself together.

"If I complete the psalm faultlessly ten times in a row, then this will not have happened. It will just be a horrible nightmare that I'll wake up from in a moment." I promised myself childishly.

That promise though, however childish it may have been, was the only thing that gave me the courage I needed to get dressed and start my day. Swiping away the tears that came to my eyes, I pulled away from Edward and selected a black velvet dress, which was edged with daffodil yellow ribbon, and embroidered in silver thread, before heading for Princess Anne's rooms, avoiding anyone who really knew me, for I needed the solitude, so that I could begin to put my thoughts in order.

It was all for naught anyhow.

As soon as I got to Anne's rooms, there was a message delivered from the Queen, stating that all the royal children, and their attendants, were to come to her rooms at once.

Anne grumbled a little, for she was hardly looking her best, and declared that she would be changed into her gown of dark blue silk velvet shot through with gold before she went anywhere. As her governess. and in charge of such things, I would normally have argued, and perhaps I ought to have done, but I correctly surmised that it would be quicker to agree to her demand, rather than to fight her and risk being late, because of one of her tantrums, and began to undress her, as I felt a large, bitter lump of foreboding lodge itself firmly at the base of my throat.

****

We stood along the wall of Her Majesty's Privy Chamber, unanimously shocked by the sudden, abrupt summons, and puzzled as to the cause of it.

Suddenly, the great doors were flung open, and Her Majesty entered, her face set in lines of resignation and grim determination. Behind her came her uncle, her brother and Sir Anthony Denny, all looking grave.

"Queen Anne. Majesty." We muttered a greeting, dropping into bows and curtsies, following the lead of the Princes and Princesses, who all seemed to realise how serious the situation was, even little Anne, who would normally have greeted her mother with a warm, fierce embrace, even before the Court, but Queen Anne waved those courtesies away distractedly, as she held her head high, refusing to crumple into distress.

"I regret to tell you, my friends, that His Majesty has died. Henry Tudor will never lead England again."

Somewhere to my left, I heard a choked, disbelieving strangled cry. It tore at my heartstrings, even as I felt them break.

Princess Anne flung herself at her mother, sobbing her heart out. Elizabeth took George in her arms, trying to comfort him, even as, in her turn, she was longing for someone to comfort her, to tell her everything was going to be all right. Her younger brother, Edward, who was now our King, held his future wife, Margot, awkwardly in his arms, whilst he himself was embraced by George Boleyn, his beloved uncle.

I sank to my knees, unable to stop the tears coming.

Henry Tudor's love for me had gone sour, I knew, and he'd forced my mother and I to live apart, unable to exchange even a note. My mother had died of a broken heart and ill health because of the strain he put her under, and he hadn't even visited her on her deathbed. All because of the whore who now rocked her child, oh, so tenderly!

Yet despite everything, despite all the pain and humiliation he had brought me and caused me, despite all of that, he was the only father I had ever known, and because of that, he would forever hold that special place in my heart.

I wept at last, wept until I had nothing left to cry with. I wept for my father, my mother, and my past as a Princess. I wept for all the motherless and fatherless children in the world, for England's unsteady future with two child monarchs, for all the children who had been forced to mature far faster than they ought to, be it through war, loss or great responsibilities.

Finally, I dried my tears as best I could on a scrap of linen I had in my pocket, and rose, still shaky on my feet, to face the Queen once more.

I made my way over to her, gathering my courage.

"_What_, Lady Mary?" Queen Anne snapped, glancing at me with eyes dark with hate, rage and grief.

Clenching my jaw in order to remain civil, I simply asked "How, Your Majesty? How did he die?"

For a moment, I thought she had not heard, or if she had, that she was not going to bother answering, but then she glanced up at me, and something astonishingly close to pity crept into her expression. Perhaps she remembered that the King had been my father too.

In any event, she hissed shortly "Blood poisoning", and made as if to turn away.

"The leeches -" I burst out in surprise before I could stop myself saying anything more. "Couldn't you have -?"

Anne sighed "We tried, Lady Mary, we tried. We were simply too late. I sat with him, you know. He mentioned you."

"Really? He did?"

Anne Boleyn nodded sourly, glaring at me.

"£5000 of his money is for you. You, his _bastard._ Is he not gracious?"

"He is." I agreed politely, before saying "Thank you, Your Grace." curtseying, and moving away to give the Queen Dowager and her youngest daughter at least the _illusion_ of privacy.

****

Of course, whenever a King dies, there has to be a new king in his place, and in this case, that was Edward. He was twelve then, and could by English law, legally get married. However, his bride, Margot, who was a year younger than him, was a different matter, and the cause of a violent argument between the Queen Dowager, and her sister, Mary Stafford.

Kitty Howard nee Percy and I, coming in from a brisk, bracing ride a few weeks after my father's funeral, froze at the sound of Anne Boleyn's shrill voice clearly emanating from her private rooms.

"We _have _to marry them! They _have t_o be crowned together! We can't allow a Princess to rule with a King!"

"Anne, it's impossible. Margot's eleven. By papal law, she cannot consummate the marriage, nor can it take place until she is at least twelve. At least!"

That was Mary, the Queen Dowager's sister, and as usual, her voice of reason. However, as she always did, Anne was getting riled, and flaring up beneath the cool logic.

"Then it's a damn good thing England no longer answers to the Pope, isn't it?"

"Anne, be reasonable..."

"Reasonable! _Reasonable!_ My husband is dead, my son's throne is at stake, and you ask me to be reasonable? Really, Marianne, sometimes I wonder if you're entirely sane."

"I'm perfectly sane; it's you who need to check your sanity, Anne." Mary replied calmly, staring her sister in the eye.

"That's not what Henry Percy thinks." Anne retorted sharply. Her sister gasped.

"Henry Percy! Henry Percy! My God, Anne, I've only just realised; you don't want what's best for England – you want him!"

The Queen Dowager fell silent, and in my mind, I saw her turn and stride away from her sister in exasperation. Then she spoke again, this time so quietly that I had to strain to hear her.

"More than you can imagine, Marianne. I want him more than you could ever imagine."

"Then I leave you to your own devices, sister. If you're going to be like this, I cannot help you, though God knows I want to."

Mary Stafford nee Boleyn flung open the door of her sister's Privy Chamber, and made to leave. Everyone in the room, including Kitty and myself, instantly pretended to be doing something else. Anne caught her by the shoulder. Eyes flashing, she hissed "You would not dare. You would not dare, Mary. Remember, as I do, that we are Boleyns and Howards together. If you are not on my side, then I am not on yours, and you can rot in Hell, for all I care!"

Mary Boleyn shook her sister off angrily.

"Oh for God's sake, Anne! I can't be bothered to argue any more. Go to him and have him if you want him, but don't force Edward and Marguerite into this marriage just yet. It's pointless – they can't even consummate it!"

Anne dug her fingers back into her sister's shoulders, making Mary gasp with pain. "Hear this, Mary. I will do both. I will do both!"

Having sworn fiercely that she would see her plan through, Anne Boleyn released her sister, and swept out of the room, forcing us to clear a path for her, bowing and curtseying as she passed us.

****

The Queen did indeed get her way.

A month later, in early April, the Court, having observed a month of official mourning for the passing of the King, watched as Edward and Marguerite took each other as husband and wife, solemnly repeating the required vows in clear, firm, audible voices that denied the youth that still shone in those healthy, glowing, robust cheeks of theirs, and their dark sharp eyes that never missed a trick.

The ceremony outshone any other ever performed in England, save for Anne Boleyn's own coronation, of course, and the children revelled in it, particularly Marguerite. She was hailed as one of the most beautiful Princesses in Christendom, and didn't she know it?

Although I was still in name Princess Anne's governess, and as such, had to spend a lot of time serving her, secretly I preferred to serve Margot, which I did quite a bit, Thank Goodness, partly because she spent a lot of time with Anne and Elizabeth, and partly because she viewed Katherine Neville nee Carey and myself as her favourite English maids.

****

I went to bed on Edward and Marguerite's wedding night perfectly content, and fell asleep almost at once, never dreaming of the shocks that were to come.

AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Right, now I have a question. Has anyone got any ideas on how Princess Anne can misbehave, misbehave so badly that Mary Boleyn has to take her away from Court and let her live at Hever for a while? The thing is, now that her father's dead, the main good example in Princess Anne's life has gone, and Anne Boleyn is consoling herself by spoiling her child shamelessly, so she's becoming even more impossible. I want to do an entire chapter on this, so I need a couple of good ideas. Please tell me if you have any in your review or via a PM. Thanks!


	11. Queen Anne Percy

_10_

_Queen Anne Percy_

A month later, Edward and Marguerite were crowned King and Queen of England in a blaze of Boleyn triumph.

Trumpets blared; the people flocked in their thousands to see their King and Queen ride out together to Westminster from the Tower, where as tradition required, they had spent the night before their Coronation; servants in russet and black Howard livery and deep green and gold Tudor livery were very much in evidence, and Edward's new motto was everywhere anyone might dream of looking, as was Marguerite's _"nomen est omen."_

Edward and Marguerite themselves were in royal blue robes trimmed with gold and silver, over which the cloaks of state would be draped, just before Archbishop Cranmer placed the coronets of delicate gold upon their young heads. They looked like angels, both of them.

Head seraphs for a reborn Court, as Edward's new motto, _"Fiat Lux!"_ signified.

As Archbishop Cranmer proclaimed "To the North and to the South, to the East and to the West, I give you His Majesty King Edward, and his wife, Her Majesty, Queen Marguerite, as your new rulers, King and Queen of England, France and Ireland! God save and God Bless Their Majesties!" the children rose together, hand in hand, to smile upon their cheering Court, and I chuckled grimly, thinking how easily it could have been me in their place.

How it _should _have been me in their place.

I, the eldest daughter of the King. I, who had two daughters, Isabel and Marianne, and, most importantly, a son, healthy Thomas Edward, who had just passed his first birthday, and was expecting my fourth child in a matter of months, had been overlooked in favour of these _children_!

The resentment, which I so rarely gave into, flared in my breast as I knelt with the rest.

Would I _ever _receive some of the honour that I felt I deserved?

****

I need not have worried. As it turned out, Edward and Marguerite had taken a shine to my husband and myself, and, though I remained in the Princess Anne's household, we were created Baron and Baroness Seymour, and our income was more than doubled.

"Mary" The young King beckoned me to his side, not long after he had finished giving out the honours that marked his coronation day.

"Sire? You wish to talk?" I curtsied deeply and moved up to stand beside him.

"Aye. Tell me, what of my sister? Anne? Has she somewhat improved?"

He did not need to say any more. I knew very well what he meant.

"Sire, I shall speak openly. I am afraid she is getting no better with age. Her demands are still as frequent and as unreasonable as ever. The only thing we have to be thankful for is that she now knows, more or less, what is really harmful and what is not."

"I see. Is there any way I can improve her? She has our lady mother's support and approval in anything she wishes to do, of course, so I should have to be subtle." Edward looked thoughtful, and I dared to make a suggestion.

"Subtlety is indeed the key, Sire. Either that or you send her to live with your aunt and uncle at Rochford and deny your mother access to her."

"Nay, Mary, that would not work. My mother would never allow such an arrangement, for they would both hate it passionately. Ah, what a curse it is to be young and go unheeded!" Edward sighed, before saying to me kindly "But, I thank you, _Baroness _Seymour. I shall consider our talk most carefully. You may go."

The King dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and I complied with his wishes, joining my father-in-law, Sir John Seymour, beside one of the pillars in the corner, as the dancing, which had been stopped so that His Majesty could give out the Coronation Honours, restarted. My smile was warm as I curtsied to my father-in-law, for my mind was still on the way King Edward had placed heavy stress upon my new title as he dismissed me.

"Mary, my daughter. Good evening to you."

"And to you, my honoured father."

We conversed easily, sipping absentmindedly at our ale as we did so. Suddenly, Sir John startled me by saying "Mary. I have a task for you."

"Father?" I glanced up from where I had been lolling against the pillar, eyes closed, for once delightfully careless of my posture.

"Edward and I want to know what the Queen Dowager is planning, now that she is no longer Queen. Doubtless she will be busy trying to secure her own future. Watch her – I want to know how."

"As you command, Sir." I inclined my coppery head, deciding not to point out that, as a Baroness, I now outranked him, and as such, did not actually have to follow his orders.

My eyes strayed to Anne Boleyn, now Queen Dowager, and I stifled a gasp as I saw her dancing partner.

"Mary? Are you all right? Not laced too tight, are you?"

"No, no. What's she doing with him again? That makes it seven times I've spotted them together tonight."

"Who? Who have you seen together?"

"A certain Mademoiselle Boleyn and Henry Percy."

"Henry Percy? _The_ Henry Percy? Her first love, the Earl of Northumberland?"

"The very same." I nodded, my eyes riveted to the distant pair as they danced a Volta – the ultimate dance of seduction.

"This is what I mean, Maria. Don't let her out of your sight."

"But I have to wait on the Princess. And Queen Anne hates me, remember? She's not exactly going to suddenly start confiding in me, you know."

True. Very well, ask Maria-Anne Howard for help. Queen Anne likes her well enough to serve our purpose, and she'll do as you ask, given her mother's friendship with you."

"Yes, Father." I curtsied low as he left me, before making my way surreptitiously across the Banqueting Hall to join Queen Anne.

I was just in time to see Mary Stafford take her arm, and draw her out of the Great Hall. Quickly, I followed, just as I had been requested. They ducked into a small pillared chamber, and I loitered outside, straining to catch what they were saying.

"Anne, what are you _doing_?" That was Mary Stafford's voice, all right. No-one else would dare speak so plainly to Queen Anne, save her brother, Lord Rochford, and he was not there.

"What do you mean? I'm doing nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing!"

"Yes you are, Anna-Maria. How many times have you danced with Henry Percy this evening? Tell me honestly, sister."

"Seven."

"There you are. How many times have you danced with George, or _anyone_ else, for that matter?"

"Twice."

"Exactly. That's my point, Anne. You _have_ to stop paying such attention to Henry Percy, or else someone is going to notice."

"What's this now, Mary? Am I not allowed to pay attention to my own _Husband_?" Queen Anne laughed gaily, and though it sounded false, at least she had not lost her temper.

Not yet.

"Husband? Husband? Anne, you have no husband. You are the King's widow, and are now officially Queen Dowager of England, since your eldest son has been crowned King."

"No, I'm not, Marianne. I am My Lady Anne Percy, Countess of Northumberland. I married Henry Percy a month ago, whilst the rest of you were all busy obsessing over Edward and Marguerite's coronation."

"Anne! Please God you didn't. Please tell me this is some sort of joke!" Mary sounded desperate by now, as she pleaded with her sister to take back the truth and tell her the kind, comforting, generous lie. Anne refused.

"No. What is more, sister, this time no one can say it was all a dream, or that we are mistaken, for we have children."

"Already? That is impossible. Surely you mean you are with child, sister?"

"No, I mean exactly what I say. A month ago, you yourself told me to go to him and have him if I wanted him, Mary, and I did – seven years ago!"

"Anna-Maria, you are impossible!"

"Don't I know it?" The Queen Dowager laughed madly. Her sister sighed in resignation.

"How many children have you?"

"Two. They're twins. A boy _and_ a girl, and they're both beautiful young children."

"No doubt they are, with a Boleyn for their mother and a Percy for their father. What do you call them, anyway?"

"Margaret. Margaret Frances and Robert. Robert James Henry. Prince and Princess of England!"

"Anne, you'll never get that past Council! They're not a Prince and Princess and they never will be! You know perfectly well in your heart you won't manage to get them accepted as a Prince and Princess, because they are not King Henry's children."

"Yes, I will, for I am Queen Dowager, regent for my son Edward, and the most determined woman in Christendom. They will be honoured throughout Europe as a Prince and Princess if it is the last thing I do!"

Mary sighed.

"I can't stop you now, can I?"

"No!" I could almost hear Anne Boleyn's infuriating, reckless, yet also somehow promising, smile in her voice as she spoke, and knew there would be no changing her mind. Mary Stafford seemed to realise this too, for she merely said "Come then. Let's get back to the feast. You may as well make a public announcement now."

I gasped. I could not let them catch me spying! Besides, I had heard enough. I hurtled back to the feast, timing my departure so that, when Mary Stafford put her hand on her sister's arm and opened the door for her to go out, the last of my velvet skirts were just vanishing from sight down the passageway.

Back in the banqueting hall, I drew Edward, my beloved husband to one side, breathless.

"Mary? Is everything all right, my love?"

"Not for us Seymours, it isn't. The Queen has married Henry Percy."

"The Queen? Marguerite?"

"_No,_ you fool! Anne. Queen Dowager."

"Are you sure, Mary? How do you know? You can't be mistaken about this. You have to be certain, if we're going to get any use out of it at all." Edward asked, ever the eldest and most ambitious son of an ambitious family. I nodded, breathing in slowly and deeply, as I tried to calm my racing heart.

"I overheard the Boleyn sisters talking. Anne just told Mary."

"Spying, were you?" Edward chuckled, for I was always known as the straightforward Seymour, the sharp-witted one, the honest one, the one who would not mince her words. That I would even dream of eavesdropping on anyone was almost inconceivable, however advantageous to my family it might be if I was to do so.

"Only because your father asked me to. He wanted someone to watch Anne Boleyn's movements." I retorted, before continuing "Anyway, at the moment, we're alone in knowing this, but there's bound to be a public announcement sooner or later, you mark my words."

"Right. Thank you, Mary. You have my thanks. Go and rest now, my sweet. You look like you need it, you really do."

I touched his hand and made to withdraw, but he called me back.

"Mary?" Turning, I saw him gazing at me steadily, as though he could scarcely take his eyes off me.

"Husband?"

"You've done well, my love. This is what we needed to know. Has the Queen Dowager children?"

My silence was enough. Edward, clever as he was, realised at once that Anne Boleyn did indeed have children by Henry Percy, but that they had been born whilst she was still married to my father, and honoured as his Queen.

"Well then. We'll offer to help get the children safely ensconced at Court. We'll see some return on this, don't you worry."

I walked back to him, keeping his eyes locked with mine, and kissed him lightly on the lips. I said only "Hopefully.", before turning away, so that I left him there, standing beneath the garlands that ran the length of the hall.

****

Edward was right. We did. He became the young King's Master of Horse, and Viscount Beauchamp, whilst I became a Viscountess and entitled to wear purple.

A fortnight after Queen Anne publicly announced her new marriage, and took up her new title of Countess of Northumberland, her children by Henry Percy came to Court.

They were striking children, dark and dramatic to look at. The girl was the bolder, but the boy had an easy, laughing, natural grace that made his every move mesmerising to watch.

Queen Anne gave them titles; Robert became the Duke of Gloucester, while his sister, Margaret was created Marquess of Salisbury. She also joined Princess Anne in her household, bringing with her a retinue of over two hundred servants.

Princess Anne was envious, which made that year a difficult one for all of us, for in her desperation to regain her mother's attention, which she felt Margaret had stolen from her, she reverted to the pettiest, most childish ways – ways none of us could stand. She had been difficult enough before, but the shock of her father's death, and her mother's immediate remarriage, had unbalanced her severely. Her orders became more and more unreasonable, her already formidable temper worsened, and she often made a point of deliberately "forgetting" something she needed, and then remembering it as soon as we could be no further away from her rooms.

I was always chosen to go for whatever it was she needed, even though I was bloated with pregnancy. It was horribly unfair, but I never allowed so much as a _murmur _of protest to escape my lips, for I knew it was only the friendship of Prince George and King Edward, and the fact that I was the only governess Anne had ever had who dared not complain that her mother over-indulged her shamelessly, that kept me in my half-sister's household at all. If it hadn't been for that, if the Princess had had her way, I (and my husband) would have been banished within days, as every other Seymour had been.

Except Jane. My sister-in-law, amazingly, was still with us, though that was partly because Princess Anne enjoyed having a couple of ladies that she knew she could get away with taunting and bullying, and with me about to begin my confinement, Jane would have to bear the brunt of it soon.

I always tried to make things easier for Jane by doing small things like brushing her hair, lacing her gowns, running errands for her. Anything I could do to ease the tension in her life.

As did Princess Margaret, Marquess of Salisbury.

What a contrast there was between her and her sister!

Margaret, named for my aunt Margaret Tudor, the old Queen of Scotland, was a seven year old girl, who was the spitting image of her mother, with dark glittering eyes, and hair that fell to her waist – thick glossy and black as a raven's wing.

But her manners? They were different. Very different.

She thanked all of us for doing the least little thing for her, she did not for us to do anything, and, like my mother used to do with her favourites, she would bless each and every one of us before we retired for the night.

In fact, within a fortnight, I found myself rising an hour earlier than necessary, just to help Margaret dress, even though she was not officially my charge.

During those hours, which both of us prized highly, I used to tell her stories of her mother's life at Court before she was called to Court as a Princess.

It was while I was doing so that I realised, though we had all been so surprised when Anne Boleyn married Henry Percy, we ought really to have seen it coming. If you looked back with hindsight, there were just so many clues.

The number of times they had danced together at every banquet, the way Queen Anne always allowed her eyes to linger on Henry Percy when she greeted him – even in front of her husband, her children, or other nobles. And now I came to think of the conversation between Queen Anne and Mary Stafford before young King Edward's marriage, which at the time, I had dismissed as an argument, it was just so obvious!

****

That evening, I was putting Princess Anne to bed, as was my assigned task. No-one liked doing it, for she was always most fretful in the evenings. She always had been, right from infancy, but she did have to go to bed, and as such, Lady Shelton had made me do it, as I had been, in her eyes, the lowest-ranking of Anne's ladies, and even now that Lady Shelton had been dismissed, it still fell to me, for I was her governess, and no-one else wanted to do it!

However, much to my relief, it had all passed off much more smoothly than normal, so much so, in fact, that I was beginning to nurture a hope that I might actually get to leave the room before all the other ladies, save those who would have to share a bedchamber with Anne, had fled.

"Lady Mary?"

Ah. No such luck, then.

"Your Highness?"

"My mother loved Henry Percy, didn't she?"

I groaned inwardly. We'd been expecting the question, it was true, but why did Anne have to ask now? And why me? Why not Eleanor Neville, or Maria-Anne Howard? Someone who actually understood the logistics of this? Someone whose mother had been at the centre of the Anne/Percy intrigue the first time around?

I crossed the room, and reached up to close the thick panes of glass that served as a window. Little Anne was still waiting for an answer.

"Well, she married him, Your Highness. Of course she loved him." I replied cautiously, praying that that would be the end of it. I was sadly mistaken.

"No, I meant – she loved him before she married my father, didn't she?"

Oh God. How to explain the passionate Anne Boleyn to a girl not yet ten years old, and that girl her own daughter? I had no answer.

As I stood silently at the window, I found I was holding a fold of the heavy tapestry that served as a second layer of curtains to keep the draughts out of the bedchambers. I pleated it almost viciously.

"Perhaps if I stay quiet, she'll either go to sleep or forget the question." I thought hopefully. But Anne, even with vision which was hazy with exhaustion, read the true answer in my stubborn silence, my reluctant posture, and my nervous pleating of her fine tapestry and brocade curtains.

"She did, didn't she?"

Sighing, I released the curtain, and twitched it straight, trying to smooth out the folds I myself had created.

"Aye, Your Highness. I'm afraid she did."

Then, without so much as a goodnight, I turned away and left her.

AN: So! We come to the climax of the Anne Boleyn/Henry Percy drama at last! I hope you enjoyed this, and that I haven't made any mistakes with real historical details - The Viscountess wearing purple comes straight from the Other Boleyn Girl, so if that's wrong, blame Phillippa Gregory, not me! By the way, I own zip, zilch, nada. Got it?  
R and R. please!


	12. Banished from Court

Thanks for all your ideas -**ChibiUsa20 **and** Anarra, **I especially liked yours, as you can see. I borrowed a few other ideas as well, but I can't remember who gave them to me. Sorry! Hope you like the chapter anyway! I also apologise for the long delay between updates – I've been really busy! I'll try and speed the next ones up at least a little.

11

Banished from Court

Princess Anne was in a temper when it all started. One of those tempers that meant the Queen Dowager should never have allowed her to be present at the state occasion in the first place. I could have told her that, any one of Anne's ladies could have told her that, but of course, she didn't listen, and instead, she ordered us to dress Anne in her pale blue silk gown trimmed with white velvet ribbons, so that, when the heralds announced "Her Majesty Queen Anne, Queen Dowager of England" and "His Royal Highness Prince George, King Conso of Navarre and Duke of York" they also cried out "Her Royal Highness Princess Anne, Princess of Orange, Duchess of Buckingham, and Marquess of Pembroke", and they went in together, Anne Boleyn flanked by her two youngest Tudor children.

Princess Anne seated herself beside Queen Marguerite, as she always did, and George went to sit beside his brother, the King, with their mother behind them, in the favoured position of a councillor. Prince Robert and Princess Margaret were nowhere to be seen, something which pleased Princess Anne immensely, for it meant that she was free to act as the baby of the family, and not have to rival her little brother and sister for their mother's affection, something she always hated doing.

However, when the Earl of Moray came forward and bowed politely to Edward, saying "Good Morrow, Your Majesty", Anne stiffened. She knew Edward entertaining the Scottish nobles with the whole family there could only mean one thing – he was trying to organise a betrothal. James Moray's next words only served to prove her right.

"My Queen's Regent, Marie de Guise, sends her warmest regards, and is deeply honoured that Your Majesty would consider her little daughter, Mary, Queen of Scots, a worthy bride for your youngest brother, Robert, Duke of Gloucester -"

I presume that he would have gone on to talk about the little Scottish Queen's virtues, and how he hoped that, through this marriage, England and Scotland would be peacefully united, as they had been when my aunt, Margaret Tudor, had become Queen Consort to King James IV, but he never managed to get that far. Anne leapt to her feet and, before the entire Court, and the Scottish delegation, started screaming at her brother.

"How could you? How could you?"

"Anne! We are in public!" King Edward was astounded, and cast a pleading look at his brother, who jumped up, and caught at his little sister's hands, trying to calm her.

"Anne, please. Annie, pull yourself together. I've got you. Everything will be all right."

However, Anne was in such a temper that not even George could calm her.

"No! You'll not marry Robert off to little Mary, Edward – not if I can help it! Why does everyone pay such attention to him and Margaret, anyway? They're no more special than any of our father's bastards were, you know."

"They're not bastards any more, Anne. Our mother has married Henry Percy, you know. That automatically legitimises them." Edward explained, trying to keep his tone firm but reasonable in the face of his spoiled little sister's distress.

"They're bastards to me! As for you, Edward, you understand law all right, but let's see if you can understand this, shall we? If you even so much as contract Robert to Princess Mary -"

"Queen Mary, my lady." The Earl of Moray interjected, determined to keep the titles straight.

"**Queen** Mary, then! If you so much as draw up a contract between them, I swear I will never marry William of Orange!"

With that, Anne turned and fled from the Privy Chamber, oblivious to the whispers and mutterings behind her. Following behind, I caught a few of them.

"Spoiled little horror. Why can't she act her rank?"

"For shame! Her sister Elizabeth would never act so – she knows her place in the world. Nor would little Margaret."

"Aye, it's a sad day for England when a nine year old Princess is shown up by her seven year old sister."

"Oh, I don't think it's Anne's fault, poor child. It's her mother. She indulges her far too much. Look at her now. She's already coming up with a way to appease that child – an expensive present most likely."

I shook my head wryly. They were right. Within a couple of days, if not hours, the Queen Dowager would go to visit Anne, who would ignore her sullenly, pretending to be on the verge of tears. Anne Boleyn fell for it every time. Unable to bear her child's anguish, she would soothe Anne – hold her in her arms and reassure her that she would always be her favourite daughter, before giving her whatever she had had the jewellers or the seamstresses create for her daughter, and watching her little girl's face light up with a smile, as she flew into her mother's arms and kissed her in gratitude, thanking her with the sweetness of an angel – the angel that Anne Boleyn still believed she was, despite all our attempts to persuade her to the contrary.

Such scenes were common in the Royal Household, and they made Anne Boleyn a laughing stock, but she paid no heed to the slander that surrounded her, for she had never cared for it, never done anything **but** spoil little Anne, and anyway, as Queen Dowager and joint Regent with her brother, George Boleyn, Lord Rochford (who was also by now Duke of Surrey and Hampshire, Earl of Wiltshire, **and** a Knight of the Garter), she still held an enormous amount of power, even if she could not control her child, so no-one dared defy her, at least, not openly.

****

To our surprise, it was Prince George who came to visit his sister first, not their mother. He sat with her for an hour, playing chess, before he looked across the board at her, and said "Anne, don't blame Edward for what happened this afternoon, will you? It's not his fault that our mother had children by Henry Percy."

"That's as may be." Anne retorted crisply, moving her castle forward to take one of his knights. "Does he have to treat them as a Prince and Princess, though? Does he have to organise **Royal** marriages for them?

I was surprised to hear her discuss the matter so calmly, but I suppose she realised that acting the injured child would not work with her brother any more, even if it did with her mother. George smiled kindly, and answered as gently as he could.

"Like it or not, Robert and Margaret are our half-brother and sister, Anne. They have to be treated with courtesy. The fact that Mother has ordered them to be treated as a Prince and Princess only enables Edward to strengthen England's links with other countries even more. Robert is to be King-Consort of Scotland, and I heard that Margaret will wed Don Carlos of Spain when they are both old enough. You see, you're not going to be the only Princess of England who has to marry. Mother's trying her hardest to treat us all equally. Help her, Annie, don't hinder her."

"She loves Margaret more than me though. It's unfair!" Anne burst out passionately. George shook his head with all the wisdom of an eleven year old boy who has been raised as a future ruler, a future King, and has paid attention to his lessons.

"She doesn't, Anne, she really doesn't. It only seems that way because you're used to being the baby of the family, and singled out for her attention. You have to understand; all those years when she was here at our father's side as his wife and Queen, as our mother – mother to the whole of England, she knew that she had two more children who were growing up away from her – even more than we were, Anne, even more than we were! Well, you were here, but Bess wasn't, and I wasn't, and Edward was away at Ludlow for so much of the year. Of **course** Mother lavished her time and attention upon you – you were the only one around! But where we saw each other at least four times a year, Robert and Margaret never saw her at all, and now, at last, she's got them with her, acknowledged as her own. It's only natural that she's going to show affection towards them – she's trying to make up for lost time. She's trying to recover an entire seven years, and it's not easy. You need to do the grown-up thing, and let her get on with it, rather than try to monopolise her all the time. And you have to go to Edward and tell him you will serve England as he commands – that you won't stand in the way of Robert's betrothal, and that you will marry William of Orange if he wishes it so. You need to be pleasant towards both Robert and Margaret, at least on public occasions. Please, Anne, for my sake, promise me you will try." George gazed pleadingly at his little sister, and, under his scrutiny, she whispered the response that he wanted. "I will. For your sake, George, I will try."

Throughout this conversation, Anne kept her hands demurely in her lap, so that no-one could see that she was crossing her fingers as she spoke.

"Good. Now, sister, I'd better leave you. I promised Edward I'd go over the plans for the festivities in honour of the Scottish Ambassadors with him before supper. Thanks for the game."

"Likewise, brother, likewise. I'll see you this evening." Anne rose and kissed her brother lightly as he made to depart.

As soon as he had gone, however, she turned to her favourite maids, and giggled with malicious pleasure.

"Now our work begins. We have to work out how to make life difficult for my mother, _Prince_ Robert, _Princess_ Margaret and everyone else at Court without arousing suspicion." Anne mocked her younger brother and sister's titles derisively. "And guess what? I've already freed myself from the annoying promise I made to that too decent brother of mine."

"Your Highness -" Lady Catherine Parr, began to protest, but Anne cut her wardrobe mistress off sharply.

"You will be silent, Lady Parr! I am a Princess twice over, and Duchess of Buckingham besides. I will do as I please, and if you try to stop me, I shall just have you banished from Court. I did it to Lady Shelton, remember? And Lady Neville. Being one of my senior ladies will not protect you unless I decide it will, so I suggest you watch what you say." Anne snarled, in a manner of speech quite unlike her own, which she had borrowed from her siblings when they played games which involved legendary heroes and villains. It had the desired effect. Lady Catherine went absolutely ashen and curtsied silently, before seating herself before the fire, studiously ignoring the Princess as she and her two accomplices began to make their plans in stage whispers.

Maria-Anne Howard rose to her feet.

"I'm going to tell the Queen Dowager. She can't just ignore this, Lady Seymour! She'll have to do something!"

I watched Maria-Anne go with some misgivings. I was not quite so sure about that.

****

I turned out to be right. Anne Boleyn laughed scornfully at Maria-Anne's fears, telling her that her precious daughter was a good girl, if a little over-emotional at times, and would never do such a thing.

"I fear it's going to take the actual occurrence to ever persuade Anne that her little darling is actually capable of planning anything worse than a bit of mischief." Kitty Percy remarked to me in despair, and I nodded, inwardly thanking the Lord that my own children were nothing like as cunning and bent on revenge as our little mistress was.

"I think we can only wait and see what she comes up with, Kitty. As far as I can see, there's no other way around this problem." I sighed bitterly, wishing more than ever that I was safely ensconced in the country with my family, raising my sweet children away from Court, rather than having to do it here, in the centre of all this terrifying spiteful intrigue that Princess Anne seemed determined to stir up among her own family.

As I could not, I merely set my shoulders back, bowed my head, and got on with sewing at the altar cloth that Princess Anne had promised the church at Windsor, but had set aside in favour of setting her malevolent plan into action.

****

It didn't take Anne long. A week later, she announced that she was holding a masque to bid the Scottish Ambassador farewell, and to apologise for losing control in front of him. Edward was thrilled that she was pulling herself together, but when Princess Margaret asked if she could take one of the parts, rather than say yes, as Elizabeth would have done, she refused, tossing her head and declaring"I don't want to dance in a masque with a baby like _you_!" before pushing past Margaret, and taking her place in the centre of the group of dancers, calling out for the musicians to play the same tune over and over again, cold-shouldering Margaret until the little girl ran to find her mother, tears in her eyes.

Anne Boleyn came to take Margaret's side, but the young Princess of Orange threatened to burst into tears, whining "She'll spoil it all. She can't dance! This is for the Ambassadors – we can't have England represented in such an inadequate manner. **Please**, Mama, let me organise my own masque, and choose my own dancers. I won't get it wrong."

"Well'… all right then. Margaret, I'm sorry sweetheart. Maybe Anne will find you a part next time."

"I wouldn't count on it." Anne hissed at Margaret behind their mother's back, sneering at her sister, before calling "Again. 1-2-3-4…" The ladies around her (all Howards, as she favoured her own family above all others) began to dance energetically, taking their lead from her, as Anne cavorted gaily, as though she had entirely forgotten her little sister's presence.

Margaret walked from the room, her head held high in defiance. She wouldn't crumple again – wouldn't give Anne the satisfaction of knowing that she had really hurt her. I gazed after her, trying to work out what it was about her that made her be able to pull off an act like that. Princess Anne wouldn't have been able to.

"It's the fact that she's been brought up as a Percy." Edward explained, when I mentioned it to him that night. "The Percy family is a family of courtiers, as opposed to Royalty. Even their children are schooled in how to keep their composure, whatever the King or Queen do to them. Growing up as she has, Margaret will have been taught that too, even though her mother is the Queen."

"I'm glad of it, Edward. She's a good little girl - she doesn't deserve what Anne's doing to her."

"No. I know she doesn't, but do you really want to try and stop Princess Anne, Mary? You know we'd incur the Queen Regent's wrath, and being Seymours, we're barely hanging on here as it is. We can't afford to do that. We're going to have to shut our eyes and turn our heads away from all this, and you know it."

"Oh, I **wish** we didn't have to!" I burst out angrily, my temper suddenly flaring on Margaret's behalf. "Why can't Anne Boleyn see what a brat her daughter's become?"

"Because Anne's too clever for that. To her mother, she's the sweet little girl she's always been." Edward reminded me, stretching out a hand for me. I leant my head on his shoulder, sighing.

"Don't worry, Mary, my sweet. The Queen Dowager will notice one day, I promise you. She has to – Anne can't go on unchecked like this forever."

I know, I know. What worries me is what little Anne might manage to do, before her mother sees fit to step in."

****

She managed to do quite a lot, but it all began really, with Princess Margaret's mysterious illness. Margaret had been fine the day before, dancing in the masques that marked Princess Elizabeth's departure to France to marry the Dauphin, François, and she sat between her twin brother, and her elder sister, Anne, under the cloth of estate for hours without even the tiniest flicker of discomfort. However, by the morning she had a slight fever, and kept shivering convulsively.

Doctor William Butts could find nothing serious wrong with her, but prescribed a few days bed rest, and a tonic of pigeon's blood, beetles' legs and decaying rosewater to try and bring down the fever. If that didn't work, we were to pile covers upon Margaret's slight frame, and sweat it out instead.

Anne Boleyn, half-sick herself with worry, spent every waking moment with her youngest daughter, leaving her namesake to do as she pleased.

Princess Anne revelled in her new-found freedom, and began to actively encourage the interest of Ambrose Dudley, one of Prince George's companions.

She might only have been ten, going on eleven, but as Anne Boleyn's daughter, and having been raised here at this somewhat scandalous Court, she knew how to attract a man all right.

Their flirtation began innocently enough – glances here and there, the occasional moment where Ambrose would compliment her, but as Margaret began to recover, and Anne began to fear her utter freedom, still so new and enticing, would be curtailed, they moved things up a gear. Anne began to call musicians and dancers to join her in her rooms at night, after she should really have been in bed. Ambrose would slip away from his father and brothers, and join the revels, taking the Princess's hand and leading her through one dance after another, as she gradually broke down the boundaries of class and courtesy that separated the two of them, unpinning her hair, tugging her dress lower than she ought to have done, and allowing young Ambrose to kiss her, not merely on the cheek, or on the hand, but firmly on the lips.

Lady Parr and I both knew something would have to be done, but as both of us were labouring under the heavy knowledge that losing the Princess's favour, (or in my case, tolerance) would mean losing our places at Court, all we could do was to encourage the Queen Regent to decide to look in upon her daughter one night, and see for herself what really went on behind the closed doors of Anne Tudor's private rooms.

Thank God she followed our advice.

She found out for herself about Anne and Ambrose's forbidden courtship, and my word, she was angry! She sent the musicians packing; Ambrose back to his suite of rooms in disgrace, banned from ever meeting the Princess in private again, and for once in her life, scolded her little daughter with a tongue-lashing as fierce as only she could deliver it. Anne seemed to take it on board, bowing her head in silence and accepting her mother's reprimand without complaint, but of course, such conduct was merely an act, an act she could play with precision, an act put on to win back her mother's kindness.

That very night, Anne slipped out of her rooms, accompanied by Kitty and Amy Howard, and stole into her mother's rooms to take the jewel-encrusted clock that my father had given Anne Boleyn on the occasion of Edward's baptism.

Having laid her hands on it, she ran up to the battlements of Windsor Castle, and threw it over the wall with all her might. It fell to the ground, turning over and over, glittering in the moonlight, and smashed on the flagstones of the courtyard below – right where her mother couldn't fail to see it if she happened to look out in the morning. She did, and she came _flying _into Anne's rooms to ask her if she knew anything about it.

Anne, emboldened by her success, laughed up at her mother. "Of course I do! I threw it down there!"

"But... Anne, why, sweetheart, why?"

"To teach you a lesson for favouring Robert and Margaret over me. Oh, and Margaret suffered from the fever because I slipped something into her cup that night. She deserved it! They've usurped my place in your heart, Mother, and I'm going to win it back if it's the last thing I do!"Anne Boleyn stared at her daughter in disbelief, before turning and marching from the room, calling for her sister as she did so. Anne watched her go, nonplussed, but Lady Parr and I shared a quick smile. Hopefully now Princess Anne would get her comeuppance at last.

****

She did. Mary Boleyn-Stafford disbanded her household at once, and took her to live with her and her husband and children at Hever.

Anne cried and fought, but even her mother, who had finally awoken to the fact that she was spoiled rotten, turned her face away from Anne's desperate actions, saying only "We'll have you back to Court when you can behave. I promise. Now go with Aunt Mary, and do as she tells you."

Lady Catherine Parr, Amy Howard, Kitty Howard, Margaret Fitzalan and Mary Dudley accompanied the Princess to Hever, and, as her governess, I went too – until Master Ascham, one of Prince George's tutors, offered to come down and oversee her education for a while., with Mary Boleyn-Stafford to teach Anne her manners and graces while I was gone.

I accepted his offer, and departed for Wulfhall instantly. I revelled in the company of my children during that long hot summer, as I got down to the job of being a mother instead of a courtier. I would have to go back to Court eventually, I knew, but for the moment, I was content to be left alone as a Viscountess in the country.

I was content to be Lady Mary Isabella Seymour.


	13. Anne of Orange

Already written the next chapter - so here it is ! Enjoy!

_11_

_Anne of Orange_

_1551_

In October of the Year of Our Lord 1551, Princess Anne turned 14.

Her sister Elizabeth had departed for France years earlier, leaving Anne as the only Tudor Princess left in England.

Anne had grown to be a girl of rare loveliness, with her parents' hair mixing in her to create a golden-brown colour, which, when it caught the sun, blazed like burnished bronze. Her eyes were jet black, and as lively as a magpie's, as her mother's.

She had only recently come back to Court, having spent the last few years at her Aunt's and Uncle's country manor houses, Hever, Blickling, Grimstone and Rochford. Only a few maids had accompanied her to these houses, and because of it, she was now more self-reliant, and much more bearable, for her temper was now much improved, much to everyone's relief.

Her cousins, Henry George and Marian Elizabeth Boleyn, the son and daughter of Sir George Boleyn by his first wife, Jane Parker, came back to Court with her. Henry was a young man of eighteen, married to the youngest daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, Eleanor Brandon, whilst Marian was a girl of fifteen, with her whole life ahead of her, who was to go into Princess Anne's household when she left to marry William of Orange, as her cousin, Anne Stafford, had done before her.

The Princess's birthday was celebrated in style, with a ball that went on late into the night, and a masque during which 28 ladies, the Princess among them, masked and dressed in red and white taffeta, entered. 14 of them were dark and 14 of them blonde.

Marian and Katy, as the Princess's cousins, were among them too, though I think that poor Marian may well have been in shock at the sheer extravagance of the entire feast.

They chose gentlemen to dance with them; Anne chose Ambrose Dudley, the very boy whose courtship of her had got her into trouble years before. He was the younger brother of Princess Elizabeth's dearest friend and courtier, Robert "Robin" Dudley, who had accompanied Elizabeth to France as a groom.

Anne flirted with Ambrose prettily, confidently, teasingly, much as, decades earlier, her mother had flirted with Henry Percy, her one true love, to whom she was now married, and her father had flirted with his many mistress, Elizabeth "Bessie" Blount, and Anne's own aunt, Marianne Frances Boleyn-Stafford, the two most notable of their number.

"There goes a Boleyn" my sister in law Jane murmured into my ear, as we watched the Princess pass, and I nodded.

"Half Boleyn, half Tudor. A child born of the two most formidable people in Christendom. A Royal child. Mark my words, Jane; she'll go a long way."

We would be right, but it would not be proved until much, much later, when we had all but forgotten about this conversation.

For now, however, we merely sat back, and listened to the minstrel's newest song, "Rosebud of Princesses, Rose of England", which had been written in little Anne's honour, though she wasn't so little anymore!

****

Scarcely a fortnight later, the Royal Family entered the Great Hall of Whitehall again for another event concerning Anne – her marriage by proxy to William of Orange.

My brother King Edward, and Queen Marguerite were there, dressed in blue state robes trimmed with cloth of gold and ermine, as were Henry Percy and Anne Boleyn, who stood with her daughters. The Bride, Princess Anne, wore a gown of pale green silk. At her throat was a pendant of her mother's, and her robe of sumptuously rich amber velvet was pinned with a great brooch of rubies and star sapphires.

Prince Robert and Princess Margaret stood at their mother's left shoulder, proud and haughty, whilst Prince George and his wife, Jeanne of Navarre stood slightly behind the King, both wearing midnight blue damask robes encrusted with diamonds, as were the rest of the Royal Family's. Jeanne's was cut wide to disguise her belly where it swelled with the bulge of their first child.

Before them stood the Bishop of Haarlem and the Lord of Egmond, who had been chosen to act as proxy.

Anne stood patiently beside her mother while her brother, in his role of King of England, asked the ceremonial questions about whether this marriage really could go on unchallenged.

We, the entire court, watched the visitors with bated breath. What if they did declare a reason? It scarcely ever happened, but what if this time was different? What if, this time, the marriage had to be abandoned, even at this late stage?

But no, the Dutch nobles were assuring us that they knew of no impediments to the union, and now Princess Anne was coming forward, straightening her bejewelled headdress, smoothing her gown, placing her hand in that of the Lord of Egmond's, and clearing her throat, so that her voice would ring out, pure and clear as a silver bell, around the Great Hall.

"I, Anne, second daughter of the right excellent, right high and mighty Anne, Queen Dowager of England, and Prince and Princess Henry, formerly King of the Same; and sister to the right excellent, right high and mighty Prince and Princess Edward, by the Grace of God King of England, France and Ireland, and Marguerite de Valois, Queen of the Same, wittingly and of my own free will, having fourteen years complete in age on the twelfth of October which be past, do hereby honour my betrothal and contract marriage with the right excellent, right high and mighty Prince William of Orange, for whom the person of Johannes, Lord of Egmond stands as procurator, and I take the said William, Prince of Orange, for my one and only husband and spouse, at least for the duration of his and my lives natural. I swear to have him and to hold him, and to forsake all other men for him during the length of our marriage, however long it might prove to be. This I promise him, in your person as procurator aforesaid, and, in so doing, I pledge to him and give to him, my husband, my faith and troth."

As she completed these words, the King led his court in a burst of raucous applause, and Anne, her young face glowing, turned on the dais to smile down upon the cheering courtiers.

The Royal Trumpeters blasted out a mighty fanfare, every gentleman in the room doffed his cap, and in the gallery, both in this room, and in the adjoining chambers, minstrels began to play, celebrating the occasion.

Thus was the way in which Princess Anne Frances Cecily Tudor of England, Duchess of Buckingham and Marquis of Pembroke became the Princess of Orange.


	14. Doubts

_Here is the penultimate chapter of "My Sister Princess Anne! It 's a long one, and I thought I'd better explain – there are two Kitty Howards in this chapter. One is Anne's favourite maid, who really became King Henry's fifth Queen, and the other is Mary's old friend, Kitty Howard nee Percy. Sorry for any confusion this might cause._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognise from history or the Other Boleyn Girl or the Tudors._

_14_

_Doubts_

"Mary? Fetch my mother, would you?"

So said Princess Anne in January 1552, three months after she had married William of Orange by proxy. I looked up in surprise from where I sat sewing in the window seat.

"Your Highness?"

"Find her. Ask her if she would come to my rooms now. I want to talk to her."

"Of course, my lady."

Setting my sewing aside, I rose to my feet and glanced out of the window, to where my older children were playing hide and seek in the gardens. I had five children now – Isabelle, my eldest, was nine, Marianne was eight, my first-born son, Thomas, was six, his brother, Arthur, five, whilst my youngest, a daughter named Frances for my cousin, Frances Brandon, was living with her nurse at Wulfhall, being only six months old.

The older ones would join her there in a week or two, having come to Court for the Christmas and New Year celebrations.

Satisfied that they were still safely occupied, however, I nodded to myself, and turned to do my young Mistress's bidding.

"Wait." Anne held out her hand.

"My Lady?" I asked questioningly, glancing at her. To my alarm, I saw that her dark eyes were brimming with tears.

"Ask her to come as quickly as she can. I need her."

"Nodding again, I hurried from the room, before beckoning Anne Stafford, one of the Princess's cousins, to my side. She dipped a small curtsey, for as a Viscountess, I outranked her, and came over.

"Viscountess Seymour?"

"Go in to her, would you please, Anne? She seems very distressed. I'm going for her mother."

Anne Stafford nodded, and vanished through the door into Anne's innermost Privy Chamber. Meanwhile, I picked up my skirts and ran. Ran through the palace to Anne Boleyn's rooms.

I knocked on the Queen Dowager's door in the rhythm that meant "Seymour!"three times, but got no response. In desperation, I looked around wildly for someone who could help me out of my present predicament, preferably by telling me where the Queen Dowager was.

By my luck, the Seymour luck, Lady Margaret Douglas was just turning the corner of the passageway, a swansdown-trimmed cape over her arm.

"Margaret! Lady Margaret!" Raising my voice, I hurried after her. She turned, and shaking her hair back, she glanced over her shoulder. Slowing to allow me to catch her up, she surveyed me with an arrogant, critical look.

"Lady Mary? What is it?"

I bowed my head, and dropped a curtsey to her, my own cousin, who loved to lord it over me, now that I was nothing but a bastard, and she remained the legitimate daughter of the Dowager Queen of Scotland, and as such, the cousin of the King, the Prince, and the Princesses.

"Do you know where your aunt the Queen is? Princess Anne wants her."

"Down by the archery butts." Margaret walked away slightly, before looking back once. "Come on then, if you're coming. I'm taking this cape to her." she snapped.

Hastily, I quickened my pace, trying not to show that I was stung by the spite in her voice.

Anne Boleyn was indeed by the archery butts, surrounded by a laughing group of favoured courtiers – Madge Shelton, Henry Norris, her husband, Henry Percy, who had his arm around her waist, his sister Kitty, Eleanor Neville nee Carey, and her brother, George Boleyn.

For a moment, I was seized by a fervent longing to be one of them, to stand there as part of that select group, to laugh at their jests, to share the secrets they shared.

"Don't be silly, Mary. You know it will never happen!" I told myself firmly. But even as I pushed that thought away, a jolt of pure anger flared in my heart.

"How dare she? How dare she stand there, laughing and teasing Eleanor Carey as she takes the cloak from Margaret? How dare she be so merry and carefree, while upstairs in the palace, her child is struggling to stop herself from sobbing as though her heart would break?"

"Stop it! Stop it, Mary! You're being unreasonable, and you know it!" I chided myself.

Shaking my head to try and clear it of these thoughts I didn't want, I approached the Queen Dowager, and, curtseying, laid a hand on her richly bejewelled sleeve.

"Viscountess Seymour? Shouldn't you be with my daughter?" she asked, taken aback, so much so, in fact, that the Howard mask actually slipped for a moment, as surprise flitted across her lovely face.

"Her Highness wishes to see you, Your Majesty. Would you come to her?"

"Is she all right?"

"Well, but distressed. She is in need of a mother's guidance, I think. Will you come?"

Anne nodded, and, excusing herself from the group, walked with me to the Princess's rooms. She knocked on the door in a rhythm she rarely used anymore, a rhythm that meant "Boleyn!", and strode straight in, not even waiting for someone to open the door from the other side, but rather throwing it open herself.

Princess Anne glanced up at the sound of her mother's entrance, and with a cry of "Mother!", flung herself into the Queen Dowager's arms.

"Anne! Darling, whatever's the matter?" Anne Boleyn sank weakly into the nearest armchair, gasping as the full force of her daughter's weight landed upon her.

"I don't **want** to leave you! I don't **want** to be the Princess of Orange! All I ever want to be is Anne Tudor, Duchess of Buckingham and Marquis of Pembroke!" the Princess wailed.

"Sweetheart, whatever's brought this on? And why now? You always knew this would happen – you're a Princess born and **bound** to wed." Queen Anne stroked her child's hair tenderly, trying to stem the flow of tears that were pouring from the girl's eyes.

"No-one ever told me I'd have to leave home! I've only just come back to you – please don't send me away again!" Princess Anne wept bitterly, and her mother looked stunned.

"But… but… we thought you knew all this! We thought you knew it, and were eager to do your duty – like Bess."

"Well I wasn't!" Anne sobbed angrily. "And Goddammit, you would have known it perfectly well, Mother, if you hadn't been so wrapped up in your completely unfounded, unreasonable, and yet constant **hatred** of my father!"

Whack! Suddenly, Dowager Queen Anne thrust her daughter from her, and there, in that crowded room, dealt her a blow that sent her reeling back, half-dazed with the force of it.

"I loved your father! I **loved** him! He was my husband, and I did my duty and loved him, just as he loved me, as was his duty, as to marry and to love William of Orange is yours!" Anne Boleyn screeched.

Most people would have given in, begged the Queen Dowager's pardon, but not her teenage daughter. Princess Anne Frances Cecily Tudor had the temper of a stable cat, just like her mother, and, like her mother before her, she rarely reined it in, even now, after four years of hard perseverance on the matter.

"No you didn't! I've seen you with Henry Percy – the looks you give him, the way you enchant him using that mischievous, promising, reckless Boleyn smile of yours. You never did that with Father!"

"How else do you think I held him? How else do you think I held your father, Anne, if I never did that for him? I'll have you know it takes a lot more to hold a King, to keep him dancing to your tune, than it does to actually catch him in the first place!"

"I don't know, and I don't care! I hate you, as you hated Father!"

The Princess ran into her bedchamber, slamming the door. Kitty and Amy Howard hurried after her, but she sent them packing, running for cover, as in her temper, she caught up a jewelled goblet and flung it after them, screaming with rage. They dived through the door, and thrust it shut behind them. We all heard the clatter as the goblet struck the oaken door, and fell heavily to the smooth stone floor. As the Princess's frustrated snarls reverberated in the next room, Maria-Anne Howard, Amy's elder sister, dashed over to them.

"Amy! Kitty! Are you all right?!"

"Fine, fine! How's the Queen?"

"Distressed." Maria-Anne glanced over at her mother's cousin, who had sunk down on to the window seat again, as her shoulders shook with the release of pitiful sobs. The glance sent Anne Stafford into action.

She ran over to her aunt, and held her gently, glancing back at the rest of us.

"Someone fetch my mother. And my uncle. They may be able to help."

"I'll go." Maria-Anne volunteered.

"And I'll get my father." Marian Boleyn leapt to her feet, looking glad to have an excuse to escape the room.

The two girls, close friends that they were, left the room together, arm in arm, heads close as they whispered, sharing secrets, gossip and confidences.

The rest of us picked up our needlework, and busied ourselves with it, trying our hardest to ignore the weeping Queen curled up in the window seat, and her young niece doing her best to comfort her, though she was scarcely fourteen herself.

Thankfully, Maria-Anne and Marian soon came back in at a run, followed by Mary Boleyn-Stafford, George Boleyn, and my old friend, Kitty Percy.

Mary and Kitty rushed over to Anne, their closest friend and sister, but George did not go to her, not even when she pleaded "George." and silently stretched out her hand to him. Instead, he locked eyes with her for a moment, and turned to face the rest of us.

"Marian, Anne, you may stay. The rest of you – out!"

"But -"

"Princess Anne -"

"The Queen Dowager -" we protested, but he glared at us, fierce despite his handsome looks.

"This is a family matter! Out!"

He shooed us from the room like a flock of shocked, chattering, ineffectual starlings – starlings dressed in fine velvets, silks and satins, that is. I attempted to linger, to overhear what was being said, in case the Seymours could use it to their advantage, and I saw Henry Percy's estranged wife, Mary Talbot, doing the same for the Talbots, but the Duke of Surrey and Hampshire snarled at us "Lady Mary, Mistress Talbot, I said **out**!" and slammed the door in our faces before we were able to overhear a word.

Having nothing better to do, I went out into the Rose Garden, and joined my children in playing a noisy game of chase up and down the formal avenues and winding pathways until it was time for supper.

****

As I came out of the Great Hall, I found myself walking alongside Kitty Howard nee Percy – one of the chosen few who had been in little Anne's rooms that afternoon.

"Kitty." I put my hand on her arm, and drew her aside.

"Mary? What can I do for you?"

"What went on in little Anne's rooms today? After I was sent out with the rest?"

Kitty regarded me shiftily, as I gazed back at her, waiting.

"I'm not sure I should tell you, Mary." she muttered at last.

"Kitty!"

At my raised voice, a few heads turned, and I hastily drew Kitty further into the shadows, and asked again, this time lowering my voice, fighting to keep it sweet, soft and persuasive.

"Why not? What can I do?"

"You might tell your father in law. Or your husband. I'm sorry, Mary, but I'm sworn to secrecy. The Howards don't want the Seymours to know that they're fighting amongst themselves."

"Katherine, **please**! For the love you bore my mother, for the love you bore me, for the love you still bear me, tell me what went on! I don't just want to know for curiosity's sake; if Princess Anne is in a bad mood after supper, I **need** to know why!"

Desperation had crept into my voice now, and I made no attempt to hide it. Kitty met my eye, and searched my face for any hidden meaning to my words. In the end, I must have convinced her, because she lowered her voice still further, and began to whisper haltingly. To begin with, I could not understand a word, but as I realised that she was speaking Spanish, it all became clear.

"We got the worst of it out of Queen Anne, and then Mary and I went in to talk to the Princess. Mary Boleyn drew her aside, and impressed upon her that she had to do her duty, that she herself had married a man at twelve years of age, and that she had felt no love for him, no desire. Not at first. But then, as time went on, she matured, and as the King, Princess Anne's father, began to tire of her, she did start to feel a tenderness towards this kindly man, this courtier, her husband – even if it **was** in nothing but name.

She talked and talked – the floodgates had opened, and all her feelings came pouring out in one great rush. Eventually, Anne raised her head a little more, and glanced across at her mother, who was clearly visible through the partially open door.

"She didn't hate my father? She didn't marry him for power, and power alone?"

Mary turned her head away, and closed her eyes for a moment, as she turned each of the possible answers over in her mind. At length, she took her niece's hand, and held it, trying to offer some comfort against the words that we both knew would have to come from her lips eventually.

"Not entirely, Anne. Not entirely. Power and ambition were partly the reason she married him, for sure, as they would be for any Boleyn, but she loved him too. Perhaps never as passionately as he loved her, but she did indeed love him."

"And Henry Percy? Where does he fit into all of this?" Princess Anne looked puzzled and glanced up once more towards her aunt, who smiled, squeezed Anne's hand, and began to explain.

"Henry Percy. Henry Algernon Percy. Your mother loved him from the moment she first set eyes on him, just weeks after she returned from the French Court, and never forgot him, not for a moment. Oh, she did her duty, her duty to the Howards, and to England, by marrying your father and bearing him four healthy children, and two who did not survive past their first winter."

"Arthur and Margaret." the Princess supplied.

"Aye, Arthur and Margaret" Mary concurred, before finishing "But when your mother miscarried after you were born, and your father stormed off to war against the Scots to allow his anger to abate, your mother sought solace with Henry Percy, and then Margaret and Robert were born eight months later, whilst she had joined me at Hever for the summer, having begged off progress, saying she felt too ill. And as for marrying Henry Percy, well, the moment your mother was free to marry whom she wished, she did, and may she be happy with him this time."

"This time? What do you mean "this time."?"

"They were betrothed before, you see. " I broke in, to save Mary the bother of yet another explanation. "Your mother and Henry Percy. My brother. They betrothed themselves to each other in the spring of 1523, but Cardinal Wolsey found out and broke off the arrangement before it could be fulfilled.

"Which is why she always hated him!" Princess Anne chimed in.

"Aye, with a vengeance." I agreed, before straightening her headdress and rising. At once, she dismissed us, and went to kneel before her pre dieu." Kitty was gasping for breath as she finished, and by now, her voice was scarcely audible. I stepped away from her, and signed for a lad in Seymour livery to bring a tumbler of wine. I took it, nodding in thanks, and handed it to Kitty. She drank it greedily, swallowing in great, gasping gulps. I waited until her breathing was a little easier, and then laid a hand upon her shoulder.

"One more question, Kitty. Just one, I promise."

"What?"

"How did you leave her?"

"Praying and thinking over what we had told her."

"Thank-you, Kitty, you've been a great help. Quick, let's join the stragglers coming out of the dining hall before anyone notices our absence. For Heaven's sake, act as though we've been talking of nothing in particular."

Kitty nodded, took my arm, and steered me through the crowd of raucous courtiers still exiting the dining hall.

****

4 months later, in clement May, Princess Anne set sail for the Netherlands.

All harmony restored, the Royal Family gathered to see her off, wrapped in cloaks to keep off the chill, for warm as it was in other parts of the country, it was still cool by the sea at nine in the morning.

Anne curtsied to her brother and Margot before they embraced her warmly, kissing her hands and cheeks in farewell.

Prince George and Jeanne hugged her close, Jeanne especially, for once Elizabeth had left England for France, those two had become closer even than sisters. Jeanne had her nine week old daughter, Elisabeth, brought forward so that Anne could kiss her brow in farewell, and Prince James, Edward's 11 month old son, was picked up and solemnly clasped in his teenage aunt's arms.

Anne clung to her elder brother, George, for like their namesakes before them, their mother and uncle, they were fonder of each other than they were of their siblings.

He gently disengaged her young, slender arms, and smoothed down her golden-brown hair where it lay, soft, shining, and silken, across her temperate brow. Pushing her French hood – a betrothal gift from her sister Elizabeth – further back on her head, he kissed her lightly, and then released her, pushing her in the direction of their mother, Henry Percy, and the twins.

Margaret was hugged and petted, and then Robert came forward. He wrapped his arms around Anne as tradition required, but there was no warmth in their embrace, and no-one with any sense expected there to be either – Anne and Robert had never liked each other.

The Princess moved towards her mother and stepfather slowly, stiffly, almost reluctantly.

"Lord Percy, I bid you farewell." was all she said, and her tones were clipped and formal. It was almost as if she was bidding a prominent courtier farewell, not her stepfather.

Luckily, he understood, understood that, to Anne, he would always be the man who enticed her beloved mother away from her father, and that, for doing so, she would never forgive him. He merely replied "Godspeed, and may God keep you, Your Grace." bowing low over her hand all the while.

Finally, Anne Boleyn herself held her daughter in her arms. I realised with a shock that they were almost the same height.

Princess Anne leant her head against her mother's shoulder, seeking love, comfort and reassurance. She found it.

Anne Boleyn stroked her hair kindly, and whispered "I love you, my rose of a Princess. Don't you **ever** forget that."

Suddenly the captain of the ship came up behind us.

"Your Majesty? Your Highness? If we want to catch the tide, we'll have to set sail quickly."

Anne urgently whispered on.

"You've got a duty to do, my darling. Do it well. May God bless you, sweetheart. May God bless you!"

Her mother released her, and Anne strode up the gangplank, scarcely bothering to turn and check the rest of us were following her on board.

As the ship was rowed out of harbour, however, she watched England as it faded from sight, watched it with jet-black eyes that glittered with unshed tears.

Once it was, she immediately went below, and cried herself to sleep, but her family always remembered her as they last saw her, young, proud, tall and beautiful, hair loose about her shoulders – as loose as a virgin's on her wedding day – one hand on the rail before her, the other tight about her French hood as it dangled at her side, her lips slightly parted, as she struggled to call out her last farewells, struggled against the wind that was already blowing her travelling cloak and gown out behind her. She paid little heed to it, her eyes fixed on the fading figures of her family.

So did Princess Anne pass from the shores of England.


	15. Epilogue

_Whoa! We made it to the end of the story! Thanks to everyone who's read and/or reviewed this – I might never have got it finished if it hadn't been for you, and as it started out as a present for a family member, that wouldn't have been good!_

_Without further ado, I give you the last ever chapter of "My Sister Princess Anne!"_

_13_

_Epilogue_

_The Hague_

_1553_

We're here now. We've been here just over a year, and Anne has settled into her role as nominal Queen of the Netherlands. The real power here lies with Spain, as does much of the might in Europe.

However, if Edward is willing to send English forces to help, and George and Elizabeth send soldiers from Navarre and France as well, the chances are that William would be able to throw the Spanish out, and take proper control of his country.

Though she is William's wife, Anne knows very little of this, and none of it matters to her anyway. The people have taken her to their hearts – this lovely, vibrant, kind-hearted girl, and she loves them back unconditionally.

Her husband, Prince William adores her too, adores her kind heart, her impulsive nature, her child-like delight in any gift that she is given. He showers her with them, and she gladly accepts each and every one, thanking him in a voice that can barely keep from shaking with happiness, and he loves her for it.

Our child Queen trips gaily from pleasure to pleasure, but, sensual as any true Tudor has to be, (especially those born of that scheming, brazen harlot, Anna-Maria Jane Boleyn), she does her duty, night after night.

I believe it is paying off too, for I overheard her telling her cousin, Anne Stafford, that she may even be with child – already!

Please God she is. If Prince William really is going to risk a war with my kinsmen, the Spanish, we need an heir, and a strong, lusty one at that, to risk it all for. We need an heir to make all the expense, all the bloodshed, all the lives that would be jeopardised, that would be put in danger on a daily basis, worthwhile.

My own daughter Frances, meanwhile, is now a healthy, glowing two year old, who captivates her older sister Isabelle, and deservedly, but totally unashamedly, commandeers, covets, no, _cultivates_ her sister's maternal instincts, causing dark Isabelle to embrace, spoil, and quietly encourage golden-haired, blue-eyed Frances with all the tenderness any sister could ever show – the way I would have done, had I but had a younger brother or sister.

I, on the other hand, am now a hard, mature, sensible (some might almost say bitter) woman of 35, and my story, the story of the Princess Anne, the woman I have served for almost half my life, have watched grow from an over-indulged, tyrannical, arrogant child into a conscientious, quick-witted, kind-hearted young woman, is drawing to a close.

I have precious few pages on which to inscribe more words, so perhaps it is time to sit back and let others do the writing.

Like my young Frances. One day, one day, she will have a long and accomplished life, I am sure.

But she could have had – should have had – so much more!

For though I am happy here in The Hague, happy as Edward Seymour's wife, happy as a mother to my five children, my childhood, my golden, luxurious, shining childhood, promised me so much more than life as a Viscountess.

I, Mary Isabella Seymour nee Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII and Catalina de Aragón, could have been, nay, ought to have been, Queen of England.

Not a day goes by when I don't curse the existence of those who cheated me out of my rightful inheritance, the inheritance my mother fought for for so many, many years. King Edward, Prince George, Princess Elizabeth and little Princess Anne.

Not to mention their mother. The woman who stole my father. The woman who changed the faith of England.  
Anne Boleyn. God damn her soul.

God damn Anne Boleyn.

AN Hope you enjoyed! I know it might seem like a bit of an odd ending, but I thought I'd better show that Mary still hates Anne Boleyn, even if she has begun to understand her a little better in recent years. Now, the big question is – should I write a sequel or not? Even if I did, it wouldn't be until after the summer, but let me know what you think anyway.


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